


Lucky Devil

by ChuckleVoodoos



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Legal Drama, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 08:23:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4472213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChuckleVoodoos/pseuds/ChuckleVoodoos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You can help us, Foggy. Do you really think he’d be so loyal if you were the one in the cuffs? He lied to you. He’s not your friend.”</p><p>Matt gets caught, Foggy gets a clue, and cases get won.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky Devil

“Have you noticed anything odd about Mr. Murdock’s behavior recently? Anything suspicious?”

 

“No.”

 

“Has he ever given you reason to believe that he might be involved in any form of illegal activity?”

 

“No.”

 

“Has he ever exhibited signs of violent behavior, in or out of the workplace?”

 

“No.”

 

“Have you ever feared for your safety in his presence? Has he ever threatened you or caused you bodily harm?”

 

_“No!”_

“Tell me, Mr. Nelson, and tell the truth. Is Matthew Murdock the Daredevil?”

 

“…No.” There is a shaky sigh. “He’s innocent. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

 

Matt shudders and closes his eyes. Foggy sounds strong, but Matt had heard his heartbeat when he was called in to the station, fast and terrified. ‘What did you mean on the phone, about Matt and Daredevil?’ He’d asked, frantic and confused. ‘You arrested him? _Why_? What happened?”

 

And they’d told him. They’d told him _exactly_ what happened. And then they’d put him in a room right next to Matt’s, separated by a few feet of space and a wall of concrete, and they’d started trying to make Foggy tell them things instead.

 

Matt can hear every word. They don’t know that—just about the only thing they _don’t_ know—but that doesn’t make it better. Matt can hear every word, and it hurts.

 

He _needs_ to talk to Foggy. He needs to tell him it’s okay.

 

He should have told Foggy months ago. He had the perfect chance, the day after Nobu. ‘Jesus, Matt, how’d you get so cut up?’ Foggy had asked at work, stunned and worried. And Matt should have talked, he should have admitted everything, but instead he’d been a coward.

 

‘Car accident.’ Matt was an idiot, and he’d said car accident. And Foggy had stayed with him all day, brought him cold packs and hot coffee at work and walked him home, keeping Matt close and guarding him from evil cars, and Matt just…couldn’t.

 

He’d decided then that he was never going to tell Foggy. ‘Car accident’ was better, less messy. ‘Car accident’ was the perfect plan.

 

In retrospect, it was possibly the worst plan in existence.

 

He had the perfect chance to tell Foggy himself, and instead Foggy finds out from Matt’s arresting officer while sitting in a cold police station.

 

“Mr. Nelson—Foggy.” Matt shudders again and grits his teeth. _Don’t call him that._ “We can help you. I know that you’re not involved, and you seem like a good man.”

 

“Thank you.” Foggy says flatly. “But I don’t need help.”

 

“But you can help _us._ You’ve dedicated your life to upholding the law. Do you really want to throw that away to protect a criminal?”

 

“Matt isn’t a criminal.” Foggy replies, voice low and even. “And he doesn’t need me to protect him.” The detective sighs, and it’s pitying.

 

Matt consigns Detective Carter to the very special level of hate he keeps for a select few. He’s pitying Foggy, which is bad enough, but he’s also calling Foggy by his first name while he’s doing it, like they’re _friends._

 

Punching is what got Matt into this mess in the first place, but he’d punch Carter anyway if he were given the chance. In the middle of a crowded police station, on camera if he had to. It would be worth it.

 

“Do you really think he’d be so loyal if you were the one in the cuffs? He _lied_ to you.” Carter presses urgently. “He’s not your friend.”

 

There is a long moment of quiet. Matt thinks Foggy might actually stop _breathing_ for a second. Finally, he speaks.

 

“Unless you’re planning to _put_ me in the cuffs, I think we’re done here.” He tells the detective quietly. “And unless you charge him in forty-eight hours, I think Matt’s done here too.”

 

“Foggy—“

 

“ _Are we done here_?” Foggy presses, and his voice is dangerous. The detective must make some motion to indicate agreement, because Foggy continues. “Good. Now, I’d like to see my client.”

 

This takes a moment to sink in for Matt. It seems to be the same for the detective, because there’s a brief pause.

 

Foggy’s going to be his lawyer. Matt’s not sure whether to be elated or frightened. He doesn’t want Foggy involved in this, not any more than he already is, but at the same time Matt _needs_ him. He’s not sure he can do this by himself.

 

“You can’t do that.” Carter says, but he sounds unsure. Matt’s honestly not sure Foggy can do that either, but he hopes so.

 

“Yeah, I kind of can.” Foggy informs Carter lazily. “They don’t really have any laws against it because it doesn’t come up much. So, once again: I’d like to see my client. You know, the one who you haven’t offered legal counsel yet because you want to pressure him into confessing? That guy.”

 

“You wouldn’t be able to be a character witness.” The detective points out, and he sounds triumphant, like he’s won the argument already. “You’d be biased as his legal counsel.” Foggy snorts.

 

“Fine, sure, whatever floats your boat. Matt’s not going to need a character witness, because he’s going to be walking out of here free and clear in forty-eight hours or less.” Foggy seems confident in this fact, more than Matt is. “Which was tacky by the way, arresting him on Friday night just so you could keep him longer. You must be desperate, huh?”

 

“We have enough evidence. The timing was just unfortunate—believe me, I’d rather have a prosecutor on call to get him charged as soon as possible.” It’s a lie. Matt can hear it, and apparently Foggy can too.

 

“Desperate.” He repeats deliberately. “This should be fun. But right now, I need to see my client so we can get this party started.”

 

“This is a mistake, Foggy.” Carter says, and he sounds so disappointed, like Foggy being loyal is something that personally offends him.

 

‘Foggy’ again. Matt is going to punch the smug bastard until his face breaks. If he’s going down anyway, he might as well enjoy it.

 

Foggy sighs, and then he starts talking.

 

“Look, I can probably get this whole thing dismissed for you denying him counsel and violating his Miranda rights, but then you’re probably just going to bring him back in.” Foggy tells Carter casually. “So instead, I’m going to talk to my client. Then I’m going to spend the next forty-eight hours systematically destroying your case, and you are going to let him go and never come near him again. If you do, I will sue you for harassment and win every penny you have. Then, when you turn to a life of crime in order to get enough money to buy a loaf of bread and you’re inevitably caught, you are going to come begging for Matt to be your attorney and he’s going to say no. And I will _laugh_.” And Foggy laughs. “But hey, none of that will happen if you’re right. So why don’t you go ahead and put your money where your mouth is and Let. Me. See. My. Client.”

 

There is a long moment of stunned silence.

 

“You…” Carter doesn’t appear to know quite how to respond to this rather vicious speech. Foggy had said the whole thing in a pleasant, even tone, but there had been a hidden steel to it that made it clear that he wasn’t lying. He meant every word.

 

Matt thinks that if he weren’t already in love with Foggy, he would be now. God, he can almost taste the words, sharp and sweet. Matt licks his lips to chase the phantom flavor.

 

“Yeah.” There’s the sound of a chair scraping back against the hard floor. “So should I just start knocking on interrogation room doors, or are you going to show me? I’m cool either way—hey, I can hand out business cards to the other people you’re screwing over while I look.”

 

“Come with me.” Carter sounds a little dazed. A minute later, the door’s creaking open.

 

“Thank you.” Foggy says brightly. “Cuffs off. We’re all friends, and Matt’s not going to attack his defense. Right, Matt?” Matt nods mutely, and tries not to smirk when Carter curses quietly enough that Foggy can’t hear as he undoes the cuffs. “Good. Now, shoo. Matt and I need to start the systematic destruction part of the program. No audio, no video, private counsel. You know the drill.”

 

The door clicks shut, mutinously loud. Matt clears his throat.

 

“Hello.” He greets, and he sounds more breathless than he’d like. He wants to pull Foggy into a desperate kiss to chase the lingering flavor of fierceness, which is not appropriate for the current setting—or ever, considering the fact that they're not dating. It’s just that he _loves_ it when Foggy goes into battle mode. It’s absolutely stunning.

 

“Hi, Matt. Sorry I took so long getting to the station. I had to grab some clothes.” Foggy sighs, and Matt hears the slight thump as Foggy settles down next to him. “How are you holding up?” Matt shrugs awkwardly.

 

“I’m alright.” He lies. “How about you?”

 

“Well, I’m not the one who was dragged into the station in handcuffs.” Foggy points out wryly, and Matt feels gentle fingers running along his wrists. “You shouldn’t have messed with the cuffs so much. Now you’re all bruised up.”

 

“I don’t like being restrained.” Matt grits out, and Foggy makes an sound of sympathy. “So, how bad is it? Carter seemed confident.”

 

“Hmm, not great.” Foggy admits, still touching Matt’s wrists. “Eyewitness and video.” Matt winces. That _is_ bad. “Don’t worry. They’ve both got to be wrong since you’re innocent. Right?”

 

Matt swallows hard. He should have told Foggy about the mask before. God, why didn’t he tell Foggy before? And now there’s an eyewitness and evidence and Foggy must hate him and—

 

Oh. _Innocent_. Foggy thinks he’s innocent.

 

“Thank you for believing in me.” Matt says instead of ‘right’, because he can’t bring himself to lie to Foggy. Not anymore.

 

He just can’t bring himself to tell Foggy the truth either.

 

“Hey, yeah. You know it.” Foggy tells him kindly. “Anything for you.”

 

Matt wants to cry.

 

“Thank you.” He says again. He can’t force anything else out—his throat feels sore and raw.

 

“Matt, seriously. You don’t have to keep saying ‘thank you’. It’s not a favor or something. It’s just what we do.” Matt nods, smiling weakly. “So. Fun stuff. Carter showed me the statement and the video—trying to turn me against you, I guess. Idiot.”

 

Matt had heard the whole thing. Carter had sounded so cruelly confident, talking about how the proof was undeniable and damning and poor, poor Foggy for being gullible enough to be fooled by a master manipulator like Matt Murdock.

 

“What did the witness see?” Matt wonders warily. Foggy huffs.

 

“Smug guy, said he saw you enter your apartment _in_ the Devil outfit.” He chuckles. “Like anyone would actually do that.”

 

Matt had, in fact, done that. Many times.

 

“Really?” He tries to say incredulously. “And they believed him?” Foggy hums in agreement.

 

“I mean, they’re kind of desperate.” He points out. “The Devil’s been running circles around them, and he’s beaten up a hell of a lot of cops. Crooked ones, as far as I can tell, but still cops.” He sighs. “And people are still shaken up about the bombs—that sort of stuff is hard to forgive. It leaves a scar, you know?” He says it wistfully, and Matt hears the rustle of cloth. Looking at his own scar, probably.

 

Matt knows where it is. Foggy’s shirt drags against the raised tissue just a little differently than it does across the rest of his skin. Matt knows _exactly_ where the glass hit him.

 

His fingers twitch at his sides. Matt’s wanted to reach out for months, just _touch._ He wants to know what the scar feels like, not just where it is. He’s got dozens to match, some of them from the same night that Foggy got hurt. Matt would let Foggy feel his too. That would be fair, wouldn’t it? They could both know.

 

Matt wants to share _everything_ with Foggy. Even his scars.

“But he was lying?” Matt knows no one was around when he came back. He’d have heard something. He waited, he was careful. There’s no way.

 

Is there?

 

“Lying or not, he was _very_ convincing. Total nutjob, but he’s a persuasive one.” 

“What’s wrong with him?” Matt asks warily. Foggy sounds more upset about the witness himself than _what_ he witnessed.

 

“A lot.” Foggy tells him honestly. “I mean, you can’t really face-ID a guy in a mask. He only thought it was you because he’d seen you before—and apparently he’d been ogling, because he identified you based on your body-type.”

 

That’s a little disturbing, honestly. Matt has a brief flash of regret that he wears such tight suits when he’s out at night.

 

“Where had he seen me before?” He wonders, and he might or might not be ready to file the man’s name away so he can have a _chat_ with him later. Both for trying to get Matt arrested and for ogling him.

 

“Around town, apparently. And evidently he decided you were ogle-worthy, because he saw you around town enough to memorize your body.” Matt cringes. “Don’t worry, I’m going to talk to him, threaten to break his jaw if he even thinks about you again. On the DL, obviously, because threatening a witness is a no-no.”

 

“My knight in shining armor.” Matt tells him, a little too tenderly. He’d meant it in teasing way, but the fact is that he’s genuinely touched. Foggy watches out for him, and it’s never because Foggy thinks he’s fragile—he just doesn’t like people messing with his friends.

 

Foggy’s a protector just like Matt is. It’s one of the reasons they make such a good team—they protect each other and cover all the angles. Together they make a flawless defense.

 

Matt hopes that defense stays flawless for the next forty-eight hours.

 

“You stop your smitten sighing, fair Matty. It’s not decent.” Foggy accuses, and Matt snorts. “So, the guy’s clearly a creep with a thing for you. Him ‘identifying’ you was probably just wishful thinking. That only leaves the video, which is…yeah.” He sounds a little weary. Matt winces.

 

“That bad?” He wonders hesitantly.

 

“Pretty bad.” Foggy admits. “Or pretty _good,_ which is the problem. Crystal clear. For a video shot at night, it’s pretty amazing—nice lighting, perfect focus, Oscar-worthy stuff. If only the guy had chosen to go into directing films instead of paparazzi perving.”

 

“Sorry.” Matt mutters, because he should have been listening more closely. It must have been one of his worse nights, when he was too tired to be careful.

 

“It’s cool.” It’s pretty clearly not. “I’m going to go around town and see how many other buildings I can find that look similar. He must have seen one of those instead and just wanted to get back at you for being beautiful. I’m sure it was a _misunderstanding_ —that might or might not end with him getting a broken jaw for being such a creep.”

 

No ‘might’ about it. His jaw is going to be shattered by the time Matt’s done with him.

 

“Thank you.” Matt murmurs despite Foggy’s protest, because Foggy’s suggesting combing the city and checking every building just to find one that looks enough like Matt’s to discredit the video. That will take time and effort if it can be done at all, and Foggy’s not even getting paid for this. “I couldn’t do this without you.” Foggy laughs.

 

“Well, it would be significantly harder for you to scout out look-alike buildings, so I agree with you.” He teases, and then hesitates. “I’ll do as much as I can, but I can’t turn back time. Carter was hiding it with the other papers, probably because he didn’t want me to interfere, but I sneaked a peek when his back was turned. They got a search warrant.”

 

Matt feels himself go cold. Search warrant.

 

If they search his apartment, there’s no chance he’s getting out of this. He’s got both suits tucked away in his bedroom, almost in plain sight. The black one will implicate him for past crimes, and the red one for new ones. He wonders what the colors will look like to the detectives. He wonders if they’ll tell him—he’s always been curious. And there will be blood on them, probably. Matt washed them as well as he could, but there’s still going to be _something._ There always is.

 

So, bloodstained suits, eyewitness testimony and video? Matt’s screwed. It’s over.

 

“You can’t let them search my apartment.” Matt begs Foggy desperately. “Please, Foggy. You can’t.” He clutches at Foggy’s hands, and he’s probably squeezing too hard but he can’t tell. He feels numb.

 

“Matt, it’s okay.” Foggy soothes. “I saw the evidence. There’s really no way to fight the warrant, and why would we want to? If they search your apartment and find nothing, that’ll take away a huge piece of their argument. I can get the witness thrown out if I finagle it right, and with a clean apartment they’ll have _nothing.”_

 

But they won’t have nothing. They’ll have everything _._ God, why didn’t Matt think of this before? Why didn’t he hide things better? He’s so _good_ at hiding.

 

“No, they can’t look. You can’t let them.” He’s almost babbling. It can’t be over, not like this.

 

“Matt, come on.” Foggy says, tender but a little exasperated. “What, do you have something shady in there? Bootleg liquor? Fake IDs? Audio porn stash?” Matt can’t speak, frozen with horror. “They won’t care. I mean, they might razz you, but all they want is the Devil. Look, I’ll bully my way in and supervise the whole thing, okay? I won’t let them steal your dirty little secrets.”

 

He obviously means it in a comforting way, but it just makes Matt feel even sicker. Foggy will be there. He’ll be _right there_ when they pull out the suits, the _masks,_ and he’ll know. And Carter will probably turn to him and give that stupid, pitying sigh. ‘I told you that you couldn’t trust him. He’s not your friend. He lied to you.’

 

And Foggy won’t defend Matt this time. He’ll just cry and say ‘You’re right. He’s not my friend’.

 

“Please don’t.” Matt whispers, and Foggy sighs.

 

“Matt, it’ll be okay.” Foggy promises. “I won’t let anything happen to you. They’ll do the search, it’ll be clean, and I’ll get you out of here by Monday. Not a fun weekend, but it’ll be two days, tops.”

 

It’ll be two days tops before he gets charged with everything they can throw at him. With a good enough prosecutor, they might even be able to get him on the bombings, and what happened with the 'hostages'. That means homicide of an officer. That’s a life sentence right there, not counting everything else that Matt actually _did_ do. 

 

“What if they do find something?” Matt asks slowly. There is a pause.

 

“What exactly would they find, Matt?” Foggy urges, voice low. Matt takes a deep breath. This is it. He’s going to confess, while the cameras are off and no one can hear. This is _it._

“I don’t know.” He laughs, a little forced. “Nothing, I guess. I’m just being paranoid.”

 

Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.

 

“Exactly.” Foggy laughs and squeezes his hands. “They won’t find a thing. You worry too much.”

 

He doesn’t worry _enough_.

 

“I’ll try to relax.” Matt promises. He’ll try—he’ll just also fail.

 

“That’s the spirit. I better go get started being badass, yeah? See you soon, buddy.” There’s the sharp scrape of a chair, and Foggy ruffles his hair. “Oh, and Matty?”

 

“Yes?” Matt asks hoarsely.

 

He almost jumps when he feels a warm hand on his shoulder, and there’s a ghost of even warmer breath as Foggy leans in to whisper in his ear. Just a few tender words, and then he’s gone, taking all the warmth with him as the door clicks shut. Matt can’t move, the words echoing over and over in his head. It’s over. It’s all over. Because the tender words that Foggy whispers are:

 

“When you get home, you might want to rethink your wardrobe. Aren’t you a little too old for Halloween costumes?”

 

* * *

 

Twelve hours later, Foggy comes back.

 

“You came back.” Matt points out, dazed. He honestly thought Foggy would be getting out of town to avoid any association to Matt, possibly after giving a damning statement about Matt’s betrayal and Halloween costumes.

 

“Uh-huh.” Foggy agrees easily, settling down next to him. Foggy doesn’t sit across from him like the detectives do during interrogation. He just pulls the chair over to Matt, all the way around the table, and sits close enough that Matt can feel his body heat. “Fun search, gotta say. I bullied Carter into letting me tell you first.”

 

“Oh.” Of course. Matt bets that Carter would have been thrilled to tell Matt that he was finally caught in his lie, but there’s something poetic about letting Matt’s best friend do the honors. The person that trusted Matt more than anything. “And…?”

 

“Not a damn thing.” Foggy tells him smugly. “The look on Carter’s face was priceless. He looked like an angry tomato about to have an aneurism.”

 

Matt blinks into space for a moment. Not a damn thing. They hadn’t found a damn thing.

 

“You didn’t tell them.” He realizes, stunned. “You—did you _hide_ my…things?”

 

If Foggy hid evidence, he’s an accomplice. He’ll go to jail too if he’s caught. The thought makes Matt feel ill. Foggy lied for Matt, even though Matt lied _to_ Foggy.

 

“I tidied up a bit before I came to the station the first time—you should do that before you have guests over, you know.” Foggy agrees lazily. “But there weren’t any ‘things’ to find, of course. Completely clean, not even a suspicious dust bunny.”

 

“Foggy, _thank you.”_ Foggy tenses in his arms when Matt hugs him. That’s never happened before—Foggy always leans into Matt’s hugs, holds him back just as tightly, warm and sure. This time it almost felt like he _flinched_. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Matt pulls away, trying to smile.

 

There’s a brief silence, and then Foggy sighs. Matt yelps when Foggy yanks him into another hug, much fiercer than the first one.

 

“You’re a fucking idiot.” Foggy murmurs. “God, I hate you sometimes.” It’s Matt’s turn to flinch. “But I like you _all_ the time, so stop looking so miserable. I’m not going anywhere, no matter how pissed off I am at you.”

 

“Oh.” Matt swallows. “I like you too.” He carefully wraps his arms around Foggy, and when Foggy doesn’t tense again he cautiously tightens his hold. “I’m sorry.”

 

Foggy snorts, pulling away.

 

“Save the sorry until you can back it up with a bribe.” Foggy advises wryly. “We’ve still got to get you out of here first.” He sighs. “I hate your ridiculously distinctive apartment building.”

 

 _“Is_ it distinctive?” Matt didn’t think it was anything special.

 

“Very. I found a few that could maybe pass if I argue really hard. The problem is you’re kind of built. Skintight getup like that, and you’re about as distinctive as the apartment.”

 

Matt winces.

 

“It makes it easier to move, not get caught on things.” He explains feebly. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”

 

“It’s…fine.” Foggy doesn’t sound so sure about this. Matt’s not sure if he’s unsure if the suit’s appearance is that bad, or if Matt _wearing_ it is that bad. “I don’t suppose you faked an alibi for _any_ of the nights you went out?” Matt looks away. “Jesus, Matt.”

 

Matt could ask Claire to cover for him, but he doesn’t want her anywhere near any of this. It’s bad enough getting Foggy involved. And it’s not fair to ask Claire to lie—she already does more than enough.

 

“I didn’t think I’d need any.” He mumbles. Who would accuse a mild-mannered blind lawyer of being Daredevil?

 

“Right. Okay. So, we have an incredibly convincing video, no alibis, an entire police force who is desperate to catch you, and a detective with a rapidly developing vendetta. We need a miracle here, Matt, and all we’ve got is you and me.” 

 

Matt swallows.

 

“It could just be me.” He says quietly. “You could get out now, get yourself as far away from this as possible before it hits the papers. You could say you didn’t know—you _didn’t_ know—and you can’t believe how much I betrayed you and I deserve to go to jail for the rest of my life for lying to you, and you don’t want anything to do with me, and—“

 

Foggy covers his mouth with one hand. Matt tries a few more muffled words, but eventually gives up and waits for the axe to fall. Foggy pulls his hand away.

 

“ _Matt._ No. We’re still partners. You lied about—god, you lied about a lot. But you’re still you, right? I mean, the Devil, that was just a year. We had eight where you told me the truth about everything. Eight-ninths, that’s pretty good. That’s like a B for honesty, right? Maybe a B+.”

 

And oh, how Matt wants to say yeah, sure, B+ for honesty, give him a gold star. He’d love to, but he promised himself that he would never lie to Foggy again. He can’t break his promise less than a day after he made it. He should wait at least two.

 

“F. Perfect zero.” He whispers. Foggy’s breath catches.

 

“What the hell does that mean?” He says lowly. Matt swallows.

 

“I have…special senses.” He starts uncertainly. “Things I can do that make me a little different. Secrets that I can solve.”

 

“Okay, what the hell does _that_ mean?” Foggy asks, frustrated. Matt considers how long it would take to do this the long way—he’d probably be arraigned by the time he was done—and decides to take the somewhat brutal shortcut.

 

“I heard every word you said to Detective Carter.” Matt has to force the words out. “I know you drank an energy drink before you came in—5-Hour Energy, pink lemonade flavor, I can smell it on your breath. I can feel that you have a slight fever, 100.4 **°** F—no, 100.5. Don’t worry, it’ll go down by midnight. It always does. I…I know your heartbeat just sped up when I said that. You’re scared of me.”

 

Matt feels like _he_ has a fever, too hot and too cold all at once. Foggy’s heart is too fast. Frightened. Matt’s always protected him when he was frightened—he’s never been the thing Foggy needed to be protected _from._

 

“I’m not scared.” Foggy tells him finally. “I don’t know _what_ I am right now, but I’m not scared.” He takes a shaky breath. “Anything else? Can you fly, read minds? Do you know what I’m thinking right now?” Matt smiles, and it’s a shattered little thing. It hurts on his face.

 

“Only because I know you. I’m not… not cheating.” He rasps. “You know me too. You do, Foggy. I’m the same person I was yesterday.”

 

“I don’t know if I am.” Foggy murmurs, and he sounds as wrecked as Matt feels. The chair scrapes fast and loud as he stands abruptly. “Look, I need to go. I have to work on the case, and also punch something. A lot. Very hard.”

 

“Oh.” Matt says hoarsely, hunching in a little on himself. This is going about as well as he expected. At least Foggy’s punching something other than Matt. “Okay. Bye.”

 

He cringes. ‘Bye’. A bold first step to winning back Foggy’s love and trust. ‘Bye’.

 

Foggy sighs, and he sounds almost disappointed. Was he expecting Matt to say something brilliant, something to make it all better? Did he think that Matt could fix things, just like that?

 

Foggy should really know better by now.

 

“Bye, Matt.”

 

* * *

 

“So, I met Hotty McBurner Phone.”

 

Matt closes his eyes briefly in pain. He knows, of course. He can smell Claire’s perfume—light and floral, not strong enough to hurt Matt’s nose—on Foggy. It’s weak, so Foggy must have showered since he talked to her, but still strong enough that they must have had some physical contact. Hug, Matt thinks. Foggy’s a huggy person, and Claire’s good at taking care of people.

 

“How?” Matt asks warily. He’s not sure whether this is a good thing or not.

 

“She said you gave her my number for emergencies.” Foggy tells him. “And she was worried that you didn’t check in. Apparently you need emergency medical care enough that one day of radio silence was alarming.”

 

Matt winces. Truthfully, he _has_ needed to see Claire more and more. His nightlife has been picking up speed and he’s been getting hurt more often. He didn’t want Foggy finding it out from Claire though.

 

He didn’t want Foggy finding it out at all.

 

“I gave her the suits.” Foggy continues. “I was worried they might try to search my place, and it’s not like seeing them was a big shock for her. She said you can pick them up anytime.”

 

“What did you tell her when you brought them?” He wonders. Foggy huffs.

 

“The truth. She was great about it. She actually offered to give you alibis for a few of the nights.” Foggy sounds impressed at the offer, and so is Matt. “I said no—thought you’d want to keep her out of it, and if she was caught lying it would be pretty messy.”

 

“Thank you.” Matt sighs, relieved. It’s heartwarming that Claire would offer, but Matt can’t make her risk her career for him, and he can’t ask her to lie on the witness stand. Foggy hums.

 

“Yeah. I did the same for Karen, although I might have also told her that you were being held for simple assault. You punched out a guy who was causing trouble. Which, according to my research on Daredevil's escapades, you’ve done about a hundred times. So it wasn’t quite a lie.” Foggy tells him, and his voice is low with guilt. “I thought you might want to tell at least one of your friends on your own terms.”

 

“I _wanted_ to tell you.” Matt tells him desperately. “I wanted to tell you every day, I just…”

 

“Never got around to it.” Foggy finishes flatly. “I know.” His voice is thick, and he clears his throat before continuing. “So Claire and Karen are both worried, but I convinced them to put a hiatus on the jailbreak plans for a day or two. You’ll be able to apologize in person by then.”

 

Matt nods meekly. He’ll need to start thinking of a way to tell Karen, and a way to thank Claire for offering to commit perjury for him. He hopes there’s a Hallmark card for that.

 

“So, you and Claire were okay together?” Matt checks. It doesn’t sound like Foggy disliked her.

 

Matt had always hoped that he’d get to introduce them one day—just maybe not under these particular circumstances.

 

“She’s nice.” Foggy says, and he sounds sincere. “We got together and swapped embarrassing stories about you. It…helped. Daredevil was just this symbol for me, distant and kind of scary. She made him sound like you though, reckless and ridiculous but still so _good._ It made me feel a little less lost about everything, and I could almost imagine what it felt like for you. So. It helped.” He finishes awkwardly.

 

Matt is going to buy Claire a dozen Hallmark cards, and dozen roses to go with them.

 

“I’m so glad.” Matt tells him honestly. “I knew you’d get along. I just knew it.”

 

“Sure.” Foggy says easily. Too easily. “I mean, yeah, there was a tiny bit of awkwardness once I realized you trusted a _complete stranger_ with your secret instead of your _best friend_ , but other than that little snag, it was great.” Matt shakes his head.

 

“I didn’t tell her.” He assures Foggy. “She found out. You would have been the first one I _chose_ to tell.”

 

“But you didn’t.” Foggy points out bluntly. “I found out when I went to cover up a crime at your apartment. And you know, I felt so guilty when I was going over. I thought it was crazy to even consider it, but Carter seemed so smug on the phone and I just wanted to make sure. And then I found the suits and I realized he was right and it just—“ He stops, making a frustrated sound. “And it just doesn’t matter right now. The point is, Claire is nice, Claire is worried, and Claire has magical healing fingers.”

 

Matt blinks. It’s true, but he’s not quite sure why Foggy would know that.

 

“Did that come up in your conversations?” He asks curiously.

 

“Nah. It came up when she was healing me with her magical fingers.” Foggy informs him nonchalantly. Matt freezes.

 

“You got _hurt?”_ He hisses. “Where? Why? How badly?” He wonders if Foggy would let Matt pat him down to see for himself where Foggy was hurt. He’d probably object, but Matt might be able to convince him anyway. Persuasive speaking has always been one of his strong points.

 

“Chill, I’m fine.” Foggy soothes. “You know when I said I was going to go punch something really, really hard?” Matt nods, still swamped with panic. “Well, shockingly enough, I then went out and punched something really, really hard—and almost broke my hand doing it. So when Claire saw, she took care of me. She’s an angel, seriously.”

 

“Show me.” Matt orders, holding out his hand expectantly.

 

“Matt, no.” Foggy groans. “It’s not a big deal. I was pissed off, I was stupid, let’s just drop it.”

 

“ _Show me.”_ Matt orders again. There’s a moment of taut silence, and then Foggy sighs and touches his hand to Matt’s.

 

It’s swollen. Matt prods carefully along the affected area, a little hotter than the rest of Foggy’s skin. Not awful, but Foggy must have punched very hard to have gotten something like this. Matt hasn’t had anything like this since he first started out boxing. Foggy punched a wall, maybe—something in the moment, in anger. Matt's punched a few walls himself, so he understands the urge.

 

“I should probably learn to punch without hurting myself more than the target.” Foggy admits wryly. Matt nods absently, still assessing the damage as gently as he can.

 

“I’ll teach you.” He promises, only vaguely tuned in to the conversation. He wants to act, go get Foggy some ice and take care of him, but instead Matt’s stuck in here and Claire has to be the one to help.

 

Claire’s wonderful, but Matt would really rather do it himself.

 

“Yeah, maybe.” Foggy mumbles, a little uncomfortably. It takes Matt a moment to realize why.

 

Foggy’s still not used to Matt’s secret life, and here’s Matt offering to teach him how to punch like a good little vigilante. That must be strange for him, jarring.

 

“I could fight before all of this.” Matt reminds him gently. “Since I was a kid. It’s not…it doesn’t have to be weird.”

 

“It would be weird.” Foggy tells him bluntly. “But—maybe, okay? At some point, if I think I need lessons.”

 

The ‘maybe’ is pretty clearly leaning towards ‘no’, but it’s not quite an outright refusal. Foggy’s not outright rejecting Matt.

 

“Just let me know.” Matt offers, trying to smile.

 

He hates this. Foggy’s so close, and it’s so easy to forget that something’s wrong between them until it becomes glaringly obvious like this. It’s made a million times worse by the fact that everything else in Matt’s life is going wrong at the same time, and Matt can’t fix any of it while he’s stuck in a cell.

 

Matt _hates_ feeling helpless.

 

“I will.” Foggy says, still a little awkward, but he’s obviously trying to shake it off. “Sorry, I really didn’t even need to bother you with this. I could have told you about Claire tomorrow, or she could have, or something. I just…I kind of wanted to talk to you.” Foggy finishes quietly.

 

Matt’s smile becomes infinitely easier to maintain in light of this confession.

 

“Me too.” He admits. “I’m glad you came.” He’s glad Foggy came at all, and extremely glad that Foggy _wanted_ to come.

 

“I think I am too.” Foggy muses, and he actually sounds a little surprised. Thoughtful, at least. “I feel better. I was kind of miserable this morning. I didn’t sleep well, and I was upset, and my fever came back.” Matt nods.

 

“100.9 **°** F.” He diagnoses. “You should take something for it. Do Advil, not Tylenol—Advil works better for you. And remember to take it with juice or ginger ale. You have trouble swallowing otherwise.”

 

Foggy takes a carefully measured breath.

 

“I can’t decide if that’s creepy or not.” He confesses. “It’s good that you care, but the thought of you _scanning_ me is—no, you know what? It’s sweet. Thank you, Matt, for noticing that I need ginger ale. You like Sprite better, but you don’t need it because you don’t like taking medicine at all. See, we know each other. It’s normal. It’s good. It’s not creepy.”

 

He’s clearly trying to convince himself of this fact. Matt nods again, eagerly.

 

“Not creepy.” He agrees, although he thinks he’ll probably hold off on telling Foggy his temperature to a tenth of a degree for a while. He’ll just monitor secretly, and put the Advil in plain sight as a helpful hint if Foggy needs it. It’s what he’s done for the last eight years anyway.

 

It’s not _fair._ When Foggy hadn’t known about Matt’s senses, he’d thought it was cute. ‘Best friend vibes’, he’d called it fondly. ‘It’s our special superpower’. 

 

Now it’s _creepy_.

 

“Don’t mope like that.” Foggy sighs. “It’s not creepy. It’s just a little weird right now, but it’s cool too. I have a human thermometer as a friend. How many people can say that?”

 

“Not many.” Matt mumbles, unsure. “I’ll stop.”

 

“No, keep doing it.” Foggy says slowly. “I need to get used to it at some point. Exposure therapy, right?”

 

Matt doesn’t like the idea that Foggy thinks he needs therapy to deal with Matt, even in a joking way.

 

“Right.” He agrees with a tight smile. And it’s mean, but he can’t help but keep going. Foggy’s asking, after all, and Matt’s a little hurt by his reaction. _Therapy_. “The sickness smells bitter, but not too sharp, and your lungs sound normal. Simple virus, not the flu.” He hums thoughtfully. “Oh, and you should try lemon drop candy for your sore throat. You used the berry this morning, but you like lemon better.”

 

“Jesus Christ.” Foggy whispers. “Not creepy, not creepy, not creepy.” He sounds even less sure than he did before, and Matt regrets his petty speech immediately. He just made things worse. “Lemon. Okay, lemon and ginger ale. I will—I will keep that in mind.”

 

“I’m sorry.” Matt tells him, guilty. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

 

“No, no. Good tips, thanks. Not creepy. I should, um, go buy those lemon drops. Right now.” Foggy excuses himself, voice a little high. Matt waves timidly as Foggy’s chair scratches along the floor.

 

“Bye.” He says, because apparently ‘bye’ has become Matt’s pithy catchphrase to solve all problems. The door clicks open, but then a second later it clicks shut, and Foggy’s heartbeat is still on this side.

 

“The reason I have berry instead of lemon is because you like berry better.” Foggy admits quietly. “And I went to three different stores to find the right kind, and bought ten packages so I’d never run out when you needed them.” He laughs, and it’s only a little strained. “So I guess we’re both creepy.”

_Oh._ The door clicks open and shut again, and Foggy’s gone before Matt can say ‘bye’ again. He wouldn’t have stopped at ‘bye’.

 

_Bye. I love you. Please come back._

* * *

There’s the sound of approaching footsteps. Matt sits up and waits, wary and tense. Matt hears a slight squeak of unoiled mechanisms as the door opens.

 

“Looks like today’s your lucky day, Murdock.” Carter doesn’t sound happy about this fact at all. “Your friend’s a stubborn bastard. You’re free to go.”

 

Foggy did it. He actually did it. Somehow he disproved a true theory, discredited valid evidence, and proved that Matt Murdock wasn’t the Daredevil. Matt barely contains a cry of relief and instead rises slowly to his feet and smiles politely.

 

“Lead the way.” He offers graciously, and the detective makes a derisive sound but does.

 

Processing takes longer than he’d like. He feels a wave of relief wash over him when the unending warnings and reprimands seem to be drawing to a close, tuning them out and trying to keep from yawning, and then he hears it.

 

A heartbeat, light and steady.

 

_Foggy._

Matt can’t sit still anymore, his whole body aching and swaying towards the sound. Foggy came back, and Matt can hear his heart for the first time in twelve hours. It’s perfect, even better than he remembered.

 

“This is a serious situation, Mr. Murdock. Are you paying attention?”

 

“Mm.” Matt replies, not paying attention at all. “Are we done?” The woman processing the paperwork sighs.

 

“We’re done.” She agrees tiredly. “Try to stay out of trouble.”

 

Not likely, Matt thinks darkly. He nods anyway and stands, getting to the door first and waiting impatiently for the woman to unlock it. As soon as he’s free, he starts walking. It takes every bit of willpower he has to use his stick instead of sprinting towards the sound, pushing past anyone who gets in his way.

 

When he gets close enough, he can’t pretend anymore. He runs the last few steps and grabs Foggy in a tight, almost brutal hug.

 

God, he feels good. Matt is dazed by it—it’s only been twelve hours, but it feels like he’s discovering it for the first time. Foggy’s probably the only person in the world that is _perfect_ in every one of Matt’s senses. His heartbeat is calming and his voice is kind, he always smells clean and slightly sweet from his fruity shampoo and body wash, and he’s warm and soft and everything that Matt thinks of as safe and _home._

“Hey, Matt.” Foggy says softly, and he doesn’t tense, doesn’t pull away like he did before. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Awful.” Matt rasps, close enough that he can feel Foggy’s hair tickling against his lips when he talks. “You’re here to take me home, right?”

 

Foggy nods, sighing. Matt can feel it warm and light on the skin of his throat. He shivers.

 

“Yeah. I’m here to take you home.” He promises. Matt crushes him closer.

 

“ _Thank you.”_ He whispers hoarsely, and he knows Foggy needs to lead him but he can’t let go for a few minutes. And Foggy doesn’t say a word, just stands there in the middle of the station hugging him back, and everyone must be staring—Matt can hear some people murmuring about how strange it is—but Foggy doesn’t seem to care. Neither does Matt.

 

Finally Matt forces himself to move away just enough to grab Foggy’s arm. He could use the stick, but why would he? He has Foggy now.

 

“Come on. I’ve got a taxi waiting out front, and I probably owe them a fortune by now.” Foggy urges, and leads him outside. The driver greets Matt cheerfully, most likely in a good mood about the large charge he’s wracking up on the meter, and Matt gives a vague hello back. As soon as Foggy climbs in after him, Matt’s pressed against his side, touching him anywhere he can get away with and breathing deeply.

 

It takes the whole ride to finally get the stale, dirty smell of the holding cell out of his senses. Instead he just has the smoky hint of clove cigarettes from the cabbie, the slight tang of a rainstorm brewing, and the sweet sharpness of candy.

 

“You used lemon _and_ berry.” Matt notes even though he promised himself he wasn’t going to bring up his senses. Foggy doesn’t tense or say it’s creepy this time though. He just sighs.

 

“Experiment. I wanted to see if they were good together.” Foggy explains. He says it easily, but Matt can’t help but think that he might be comparing himself and Matt in the same way.

 

“And…?” He urges, a little too invested in the answer. Foggy’s quiet for a moment.

 

“Much better than I thought it would be.” He offers finally, and although it’s vague there’s a hint of fondness to it that makes Matt smile.

 

“Good.” Matt says, certain and a little too smug. He presses even closer, and Foggy doesn’t push him away.

 

Judging by the driver’s even more cheerful goodbye when they arrive, Foggy tipped him a rather generous amount. Matt would probably tip him too, now that he has his wallet back, but that would mean letting go of Foggy and that can’t happen. Instead he just gives him an absent smile and tries not to yank Foggy into another hug.

 

Every step is familiar on the sidewalk, the stairs, the hallway to Foggy’s apartment, but Matt acts even more vulnerable than he usually does just so he can lean on Foggy. And if Foggy talked to Claire, all the missing pieces must be there. He must know that Matt doesn’t need Foggy to lead him, that Matt’s abusing the privilege.

 

“Sorry, I’d have dropped you off at your place first, but Claire and Karen are setting up a surprise party for you. They get on like a house on fire, by the way.” Matt blinks at him, bewildered. “I thought you might have had enough surprises for a while, so I told them we’d be another hour. I thought you could gussy up here first, get in a party mood.”

 

A surprise party. Matt swallows hard.

 

“Yeah.” He agrees hoarsely. “Thank you.”

 

“Mm-hmm.” There’s a jingle of keys as Foggy unlocks the door. “I’ve got the spare clothes you left over here for emergencies, so you won’t even have to walk around in my hand-me-downs.”

 

“I wouldn’t mind.” Matt tells him honestly. Actually, wearing soft clothes that smell like Foggy sounds like a very good idea, but it would probably look odd if he insisted. “Should I—“ He shuffles awkwardly. He’s not sure what to do or say. He doesn’t want to seem pushy.

 

“You remember where the shower is.” Foggy says, glossing over the discomfort. “Make sure to shave, okay? You look like a castaway. I feel like I should buy you a pet coconut.”

 

Matt can’t help but grin at this.

 

“I’ll shave.” He promises. “Although you’re one to talk about haircuts.”

 

He tugs gently on a strand of Foggy’s long hair. Foggy huffs and bats his hand away, but not too hard. It doesn’t seem like a ‘don’t-touch-me’ reaction like Matt was worried about.

 

“Go shower, you mountain man.” He orders, and moves away. Matt considers for one moment following after him instead of going to the shower, but he thinks there are limits to Foggy’s tolerance. They’re not quite there yet—Foggy’s still adjusting to Matt, and smothering him won’t help.

 

Matt forces himself to go to the shower instead.

 

He steps inside as soon as the water’s on, stripping as quickly as he can. The water’s still cold for a minute or two, but he can feel it slowly warming on his skin and that’s almost better, feeling it happen. Feeling himself get warmer.

 

It’s safe, Matt realizes dazedly. He got away with it. The police have no evidence against him and will probably be too embarrassed to even look at him for a while, he’s getting a surprise party, and Foggy saved him.

 

Foggy spent two days hunting down every bit of evidence against Matt, and he tore it apart in front of the police to keep Matt safe. Foggy lied for him, and broke the law, and Matt has no idea what he’s going to do next.

 

Foggy is loyal. There’s no question that he’d save Matt if Matt were in danger. But loyalty isn’t the same thing as forgiveness. Foggy’s acting friendly and sweet like he always does, but sometimes there’s that sharpness to his words, a jagged hurt that seeps through.

 

He _flinched_ when Matt hugged him.

 

Matt takes a deep breath and tries not to think for a while, just focuses on the warm spray of the shower. It doesn’t work.

 

“I got your clothes!” Foggy calls from the other side of the door. “Should I just put them by the sink, or are you a blushing virgin that can’t bear to be near a man when your ankles are showing?”

 

It’s almost like a mind game, Matt thinks. Foggy’s acting just like Foggy, but Matt knows that underneath that he’s _hurting._ Matt wonders who he’s pretending for.

 

“You can’t see my shapely ankles through the curtain.” Matt calls back, because it’s so much easier to pretend everything’s okay. “Go ahead.”

 

Foggy does, and even though Matt’s sure he can’t see a thing he still wolf-whistles.

 

“Lookin’ good, Murdock. Nice ankles!” Foggy tells him, and the door clicks shut before Matt can toss his washcloth at him from over the curtain. Matt smiles and finishes up.

 

He _missed_ this. Even if it’s not quite real yet, he missed it.

 

He shaves quickly and gets dressed. He feels better already. With Foggy and a shower and new clothes, he almost feels normal again. Almost.

 

“So, how do I look?” Matt asks, wandering out from the bathroom and toweling his hair dry. “A little less castaway?” He puts the towel in the hamper and gives a quick spin. Foggy hums thoughtfully.

 

“You probably won’t traumatize our lovely female companions at first sight.” He informs Matt brightly. “They’ll have to talk to you before you trigger the trauma.” Matt should probably be offended but he just feels so _warm._ “Nah, no worries. You look good.”

 

“Thank you.” He says, and it sounds hoarse and raw. He can’t quite joke about this part. “Thank you for everything.”

 

He wants to hug Foggy, but he’s terrified that Foggy will flinch again. He was good the last time, but that might have been because they were in public. In private, he might not be so accepting.

 

“Oi, we need a happy face. Claire and Karen worked really hard, so no brooding.” Foggy orders, and as though he can tell something’s wrong he gives Matt a quick one-armed hug and a noogie.

 

Matt yelps and wiggles loose, but he’s smiling when they leave Foggy’s apartment.

 

“It’s not a big party, right?” Matt asks, a little bit of nervousness seeping in as they walk. “I don’t know if I’ll be up to much.”

 

“Just good food and good friends.” He assures Matt. “Nothing crazy. They just want to check up on you, and then they’ll leave you alone to catch some sleep. You look kind of zombie-ish right now. Well-groomed zombie-ish though, which is an improvement.”

 

Matt’s not sure whether this is a compliment or an insult, so he just shrugs and smiles vaguely.

 

“I _am_ hungry.” He offers, because he hadn’t been able to stomach more than a bite or two of the tasteless prison meals.

 

“Good, because we got a lot of food.” Foggy tells him. “How’s your surprised face?” Matt tries it. “Yeah, not buying it. Wider eyes.” Matt widens his eyes. “Okay, part your lips a little, just—good.” He praises when Matt does it. “And do the little blink thing. Just a few times, not like you’re doing Morse code.” Matt obeys. “There we go. You’re a good actor.”

 

Matt is _definitely_ not sure if this one is a compliment or insult. Foggy says it so casually, but there’s a high potential for it to be a passive-aggressive dig. He doesn’t want to seem paranoid by bringing it up though, so he just smiles even more vaguely and lets Foggy lead him into Matt’s building and up the stairs.

 

He can hear Karen and Claire’s heartbeats and breathing, although they’re doing a very good job of keeping quiet. If Matt didn’t have his senses, he’d be shocked when he walked in.

 

He is eternally grateful that Foggy told him and let him get ready. Matt thinks he might have run if he came straight home from the station, dirty and exhausted, and found all of this. At least he had time to psych himself up this way.

 

“Alright. Ready?” He asks Foggy, still a little anxious.

 

“Ready.” Foggy says firmly. “And don’t forget to actually _smile_ after the surprised face, okay? This is your party—have some fun.”

 

He opens the door before Matt can respond.

 

“Welcome home!” Matt almost jumps at the noise, so loud and cheerful after the muted murmuring of the holding cells. He doesn’t even need to fake the surprised face, although he thinks it might look a little more panicked than he’d like.

 

“Thank you.” He smiles, and he doesn’t need to fake that either. He gets hugs from both women, and then they drag him over to sit and force-feed him about a million different kinds of food, all his favorites.

 

They’re kind about it. They don’t immediately start interrogating him—which is a blessing, because Matt’s had enough interrogations to last a lifetime. Instead they tell him what’s been happening in the last two days, with them and the world, and they describe all of the decorations.

 

Balloons, apparently. A lot of them, a rainbow of colors. A few party streamers, and a banner that’s a little lopsided, but that they assure him looks good anyway. Matt can’t see any of it, but when they talk he _almost_ can.  

 

And it’s amazing. He’s laughing more than he has in a long time, even before this disaster, and he feels so loved that it almost hurts. He knows he’s not alone.

 

Foggy’s quiet, but he stays close by Matt, near enough that their shoulders and arms brush together when one leans over to grab a bite of something. It’s wonderful already, but Claire and Karen are watching and Foggy’s putting on a good show like everything’s normal.

 

Matt decides he’ll play along and see how far he can push it.

 

Foggy makes a small sound of surprise when Matt’s arm wraps around his shoulders and pulls him a little closer, but he doesn’t push Matt away. After a moment of hesitation, he leans into it.

 

Foggy’s committed, Matt thinks. He’s a better actor than Matt ever was.

 

He spends a few wonderful minutes with his arm around Foggy, and it’s even easier to smile and laugh than it was before. This lasts until Karen announces excitedly: ‘Cake!’

 

Foggy’s off like rocket, slipping out from under Matt’s arm and after Karen. The motion is so sudden that Matt finds himself holding air for a second before he realizes what happened. He sheepishly lowers his arm.

 

“You two seem cozy.” Claire murmurs while Karen and Foggy are far away enough not to hear. “He took it well?”

 

“I think he might hate me.” Matt murmurs back, and then smiles with forced brilliance when Karen and Foggy get closer again.

 

“Chocolate Oreo ice cream cake.” Karen informs him happily. “Foggy said it was your favorite.”

 

“It…is.” Matt agrees, surprised. If Foggy picked the cake, Matt wouldn’t have been overly shocked to find it was red velvet, Matt’s _least_ favorite, possibly with Tabasco sauce mixed into the batter. Foggy can be a little vindictive, and he has plenty of reason to be this time.

 

Then again, Matt’s not going to be the only one eating the cake. Foggy might not want any casualties.

 

“Oh, and it looks really cool. Foggy got those little icing tubes, so we all drew pictures on top.” Karen adds. “I made a shooting star, Claire made a red cross, and Foggy made…Um.” She hesitates, obviously unsure. “I don’t really know what that is.”

 

Matt has a moment to imagine all the embarrassing possibilities before Foggy sighs.

 

“Happy avocado.” He mumbles awkwardly. “It’s stupid.”

 

“I love it.” Matt decides. Even if he can’t see it, even if it’s the ugliest icing avocado to ever exist, Matt loves it. Foggy drew it for him _after_ he found out Matt’s secrets, and he still tried hard and used one of their inside jokes. That’s got to mean something, right?

 

“Me too.” Karen tells him, and Claire makes a sound of amused agreement. They settle in to eat the cake, and Matt’s expecting Foggy to switch seats with Karen, or at least sit as far away from Matt on the couch as he can.

 

Which is why it’s so startling when Foggy sits down right where he was before, lifting up Matt’s arm to tuck himself under it.

 

“Ice cream cake is cold.” Foggy explains tartly when Matt looks too happy. “Body heat.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Matt agrees eagerly, and spends the rest of the night eating cake and grinning like a madman. Foggy’s right—the cake is cold, but Matt feels warm anyway. Body heat.

 

When Matt starts yawning and falling asleep sitting up, they start to wrap up. Foggy’s carefully packing up the cake to keep it from getting icy or stale, so Matt walks the ladies to the door.

 

“Do you think you’ll come back to work soon?” Karen asks timidly, and Matt nods.

 

“Tomorrow.” He assures her, and waves off her immediate protest. “I’d like something to do.” She eventually agrees, gives him a hug, and goes.

 

“You look awful.” Claire tells him bluntly. Matt blinks at her, stung. “Let me know if you need some patching up, okay? And try to stay out of trouble—and prison.”

 

“My new motto.” He promises, and Claire snorts but hugs him too. When she leaves, it’s just him and Foggy. Foggy clearly hadn’t planned for this, because he clears his throat uncomfortably.

 

“I’ll, um—I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Foggy offers hesitantly. “The food’s put away, so you can just head to bed and I’ll—see you tomorrow.”

 

Judging by the position of his voice, he’s trying to edge around Matt without getting close enough to catch. Matt opens his arms expectantly.

 

“Everyone else did it.” He urges when Foggy doesn’t move forward. “It’s tradition.” Still nothing. “Foggy, I won’t _bite_ you. I just want a hug before you go.” Matt says, exasperated and a little desperate.

 

He thought they were getting somewhere with the couch. He thought they might be better, but Foggy’s still skittish around him.

 

“Yeah.” Foggy says finally, and Matt sighs in relief when Foggy gives him a long, tight hug. “You know, I think we’ve hugged more in the past week than we have in the past _year?”_ Foggy muses absently.

 

Matt thinks the hugging trend is probably going to continue. He needs the sense of connection and safety.

 

“Sorry.” Matt’s not sure if he’s sorry about pushing the hugs or sorry about _not_ pushing them in the past. They used to hug all the time, just because. It never should have gotten this bad.

 

“Me too.” Foggy says softly, and pulls away. And Matt should probably let him leave like that, while it’s still vaguely normal, but he can’t do it.

 

“Please stay.” He blurts out. “We could just talk. About things.” Matt has a lot of explaining to do. Foggy clears his throat again, still awkward.

 

“Matt, I don’t know—“ Foggy stops, making a frustrated sound. “Look, I can do this for little bits at a time, okay? Act like everything’s fine. But it’s _not,_ and I don’t want you to be around when I freak out again.” He laughs, a little bitterly. “I’ve been pacing myself. Mini-meltdowns instead of one big one, but they’re still pretty bad. Apparently I need to find some more effective coping mechanisms.”

 

“No, I don’t mind.” Matt hastens to reassure him. “You can freak out. You can yell, and scream, and I’ll totally deserve it, but you can do it here. You don’t need to leave.”

 

“I’m not going to scream.” Foggy sighs. “That first night, I screamed into my pillow for about an hour straight. The screaming’s all out. It’s the crying that I’m worried about.”

 

“Crying?” Matt whispers, horrified. “You were _crying_?” Just the thought is enough to Matt feel broken. Heartbroken. He made Foggy _cry._

“Whoa, no!” Foggy yelps. “See, this is why I wanted to leave, because you’re a sympathy crier, and a crier-crier, and just—stop crying! Matt, come on. Stop crying.”

 

Matt shakes his head, more tears welling up. His nose is already starting to run and his face feels too hot, and Matt _hates_ crying, he really does.

 

“I should have told you.” He whispers. “I’m sorry.”

 

“No, it’s fine.” Foggy lies, panicked. “It’s all good. We’re all good, and it’s over and done with and I just need a little bit of time and it’ll be fine and _please_ stop crying.”

 

Matt shakes his head again, pulling off his glasses to rub at his eyes. He would stop crying if he could, but he’s never been able to control it. His father used to say that he was like a leaky little faucet, but he’d sounded proud. ‘Better to leak a little than not work at all’, he’d said fondly. ‘Crying means you care.’

 

“I can’t stop.” He whimpers. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t—just—god _damn_ it, Matt.” Foggy hugs him again. Matt buries his face in Foggy’s hair and starts sobbing. “Come on, stop. I’m a sympathy crier too. Stop making me…” He gives a hitching little hiccup. “You bastard. Stop making me cry.”  

 

And he starts sobbing too.

 

Some distant part of Matt is thankful that Claire and Karen are already gone, because this is humiliating. Matt’s just standing here bawling like a baby, damp face and stuffy nose and yes, he knows he’s not an attractive crier even without people mentioning it to him _every single time._

 

Foggy doesn’t seem to be much better off. He keeps sniffling and shaking, and Matt can feel warm tears soaking into his shirt. Foggy, Matt thinks, is probably not an attractive crier either. They match that way—and in about a thousand others.

 

So they stand there, sobbing and hugging in a room full of balloons and banners, for a very long time. Finally the sobs quiet into shaky breaths, and the tears slow down to something a little less like a flood.

 

“I can’t tell if I feel better or not.” Matt admits hoarsely. Foggy makes a noise of agreement.

 

“I feel like a soggy sponge.” He sniffs, and Matt nods. “But maybe not a sad one.”

 

“Well, that’s good. Right?” Matt encourages unsurely.

 

“I guess.” Foggy sighs, and he sounds unsure too. He pulls back a bit. “You’re all soggy too.” He dabs carefully at Matt’s face with the sleeve of his shirt. It’s a soft enough material that it doesn’t hurt, and Foggy’s so gentle that it almost feels good. It feels like he cares. “Don’t you dare blow your nose on me.”

 

Matt grins, a little damply, and nods. Then he reaches out to clean Foggy’s face too, grateful that he wore long sleeves.

 

“There.” Matt says firmly when Foggy’s face feels drier. “I’m sure you look very respectable.” Foggy laughs wetly.

 

“And _you_ look like a leaky little faucet.” He teases. Matt freezes.

 

He never told Foggy about that. Foggy must have come up with it on his own.

 

Matt should maybe be concerned that the two most important people in his life think he looks like defective plumbing. Foggy sounds like his dad did though, affectionate and a little wry, and Matt’s knees almost buckle under the wave of emotion that fills him.

 

Crying means you care.

 

Matt blinks back another wave of tears, because Foggy’s sleeves are wet enough already, and smiles.

 

“You say the sweetest things.” He teases, and squeezes Foggy once before forcing himself to let go. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” He means to say it as a promise, but instead it comes out as a hopeful question.

 

“Yeah.” Foggy agrees, and he sounds steadier than he did the last time he said goodbye. “Yeah, we’ll talk tomorrow.” He gives another surprising, swift hug before slipping out the door. “Welcome home, Matt.”

 

Matt stands by the door until Foggy’s footsteps fade away, and then he goes to eat the rest of his ice cream cake. He’ll regret it later, but right now he needs the comfort.

 

He’s back in his apartment, but he’s not quite sure that he’s home yet.

 

* * *

 

Miraculously, work isn’t torture.

 

Karen’s good at keeping the spirit of the office bright, and Foggy’s not ignoring him like Matt half-expected him to. At first there are a few lulls in conversation when the topic hits a little too close to one of their many, many issues, but they power through. By the end of the day, Foggy’s teasing him about his filing system and Matt’s retorting that just because Foggy organizes like a tornado doesn’t mean Matt has to.

 

Matt leaves work smiling, walking down to the stairs to the street still arguing with Foggy with frequent, joking attempts at peacekeeping from Karen. He goes home actually _humming_ under his breath, and everything seems okay.

 

It was the crying that was the turning point, Matt thinks. Sobbing with someone tends to form a bond, one of comfort and trust. Trust is something sorely needed between the two of them right now, and comfort is something they've always given each other during the bad times. Feeling it again makes the memories fresher, that they're partners and they take care of each other. That's real, that's something that Foggy can never doubt, and reminding him of it seems to have helped in healing some of the hurt.

 

Matt lets himself hope that they'll be okay again soon, stronger than ever now that there are no secrets between them. They're good together, lemon and berry. They're doing better than Foggy thought they'd be, and they're going to be even better. Matt knows it.

 

Matt's luck holds on Tuesday, and on Wednesday they actually get a _client._

 

It’s a simple case in theory, but there are some…extenuating circumstances.

 

“I mean, if I’m caught, that’ll mean jail, right?” The man asks, worried. “I don’t want to go to jail, but I don’t want him to go to jail either.”

 

Matt counts to ten in his head, very slowly, to keep from walking the man right out of the office and out of Matt’s life. There really could _not_ have been a worse time for this. The man’s not in trouble, not yet. He wants legal counsel to decide if he should _get_ in trouble.

 

He wants to lie to keep his husband out of prison.

 

“I understand.” Karen soothes. “That must be hard, knowing that someone you love is suffering.” There’s a bright note of tea in the air—Karen getting a cup for their weepy client from the Keurig in the office next door. “It’s a very difficult choice you’re facing.”

 

“Yeah, what a toughie.” Foggy grits out, and starts rather aggressively flipping through the case reports with sharp rustling sounds as he turns a page.

 

Matt counts to twenty this time to keep from tackling Foggy into a hug until Foggy is forced to forgive him.

 

“He’s a good man.” The man tells them—the man named Freddy Newton, of course, because the universe really wants to drive the point home. Freddy Newton is trying to decide whether to break the law to keep his husband, _Mark Mason,_ out of prison.

 

The universe, Matt reflects, is a bit of a dick.

 

“Of course he is.” Karen comforts. “You must love each other very much.”

 

This is true. In addition to Mark Mason being a criminal, he is also apparently madly in love with his husband Freddy Newton. Freddy Newton, who is Mark’s _partner_ in a _private practice._ They went to _Columbia_ for medical school, worked as doctors for a large hospital that they felt didn’t care about people, and left to save Hell’s Kitchen one patient at a time.

 

They were roommates for three years, and skipped their graduation ceremony to get married at the courthouse.

 

Matt skipped his graduation ceremony to beat up a mugger.

 

“He’s my soulmate.” Freddy tells her earnestly. “And he didn’t do anything wrong, not really.”

 

Mark Mason stole drugs from a pharmaceutical company. A lot of drugs.

 

Of course, because he’s the doctor equivalent of Matt, he was stealing the drugs to give them to people who needed them as legitimate medicine. He didn’t make a dime, even though he stole $10,000 worth of drugs.

 

Many of the drugs were found in his home, as of yet undistributed. He’d been saving them, apparently, to keep filling the prescriptions of the poor and sick for free like some sort of fairy godfather.

 

“Spousal privilege allows you to bow of out testifying against your husband." Matt offers, but it's hard to hide his doubt after hearing the facts. "I recommend you take that route. That being said, the evidence is...compelling." Iron-clad, really. "Even barring your testimony, the case against your husband is going to be a strong one." 

 

Freddy swallows.

 

“I’m not asking about testifying." He corrects Matt quietly. "I'm asking if I can confess instead.” Matt freezes. “The police just want _somebody_ to blame, and we live together. He wore gloves—there’s no proof it was him instead of me. And Mark…he’s sensitive. He wouldn’t survive in prison.”

 

“And you would?” Matt asks skeptically. Freddy makes a sound of agreement.

 

“I’ve always been more assertive.” He explains. “And I’m not—I got used to fighting, growing up in a bad neighborhood with a lot of bullies. I’m pretty good. Mark’s gentle, you know? He couldn’t hurt a fly.”

 

Mark sounds like a delicate little flower. Matt’s actually a little disgusted.

 

“You think that Mark would let you take the fall for him?” Matt presses. “You said he loved you.”

 

“He does.” Freddy snaps. “And he wouldn’t. That’s why I’d want to _prove_ I did it.”

 

Matt takes a second to process this ridiculous statement.

 

“You want us, lawyers who have sworn to uphold the law in all of its wisdom, to teach you how to _frame_ yourself?” Matt can’t keep the incredulity out of his voice. “You do realize that we’re _defense_ attorneys, right? Not career criminals.”

 

Foggy coughs rather pointedly without pausing in his page-flipping, and Matt hides a wince. He’s not a _career_ criminal. It’s a _hobby._

 

“You are defending someone— _Mark.”_ Freddy argues. “I can take care of myself.”

 

“It’s not your job to fix your partner’s mistakes.” Matt tells him lowly. “He should have done a better job covering up his crimes.”

 

It’s so true. Matt should have been more careful. He never should have dragged Foggy into his troubles. Foggy had nothing to do with it, and now he’s on the police's radar if they ever start poking around again.

 

From what Freddy’s said, Mark didn’t tell him about his crimes either. It appears to be a theme with the M men, and Matt hates both of them for it.

 

“It’s not his fault!” Freddy cries. He sounds angry now instead of scared. “He just wanted to help people. Is that so wrong?”

 

“It is if he gets caught.” Matt hisses. “Stop _protecting_ him, Fo—“ _Foggy._ He stops, frozen. “Freddy.” He finishes deliberately.

 

The sound of turning pages has gone abruptly silent. _Stop protecting me, Foggy._

 

“Matt, calm down.” Karen sounds alarmed. “Sit back down, okay?”

 

Matt realizes with a lurch that at some point he’d stood up. He’s leaning forward, hands clenched on his table hard enough to hurt.

 

Foggy tugs gently on the back of his shirt. Matt swallows and lets Foggy pull him back down into his chair. After a brief pause, the sound of pages turning begins again, slower than before.

 

“I’m sorry for my reaction.” He says sincerely. “But I don’t think it’s the right decision. Mark wouldn’t want you to do this. He would _never_ forgive himself for it. Ever.”

 

“Matt…” Karen says again, unsure. Freddy takes a slow, even breath.

 

“You would do the same thing for your husband.” He accuses softly. “Even if Foggy asked you not to.”

 

Matt feels like the ground is falling out from under him, static filling his mind. _Husband._ Freddy thinks that Matt is Foggy’s husband.

 

Why would he think that? Matt shifts uncomfortably, and his knee presses briefly against Foggy’s. He hadn’t even noticed how close they were sitting. Matt had just dragged over a chair next to his and Foggy had sat down. Did Matt really put it that nearby, or did Foggy move it?

 

Either way, they’re practically on top of each other. Matt takes a bracing sip of coffee. Afterwards, Foggy pulls the mug out of his hand, and Matt hears the telltale slurp that means Foggy’s stealing a sip.

 

Matt realizes with dull horror that they’ve been sharing the same cup for the whole meeting.

 

No wonder Freddy thinks they’re married.

 

“I think you have the wrong idea.” Matt tells him carefully, hating what he’s about to say. “Foggy and I aren’t—“

 

“Aren’t condoning breaking the law.” Foggy finishes smoothly, the first thing he’s said since this argument started. “But you don’t have to.”

 

“I don’t?” Freddy wonders, puzzled. “I’m not letting Mark go to jail. I’ll do anything.”

 

“Trust me, I get the feeling.” Foggy tells him dryly. Matt bites his lip. “But law-breaking is not a rabbit hole you want to go down. Let’s do it legally, okay?”

 

“How?” Freddy’s voice is desperate.

 

“They didn’t have a warrant before they searched.” Foggy tells Matt, another rustle of paper, and a dull beat—tapping something on the page. “They’re going for an exception, but _come on._ What, are they going to claim plain view or something? Please. Clear violation of rights, unlawful seizure without exigent circumstances.”

 

Oh. If Matt had been able to read the printed reports instead of listening to Freddy talk about his meet cute with Mark, this would have saved them an hour. Thank god one of them doesn’t have to stick to reading Braille.

 

“Exclusionary rule. Fruit of the poisoned tree.” Matt follows immediately. Foggy makes a happy noise of agreement. “Mark didn’t confess, did he?” He presses Freddy.

 

“N-No. I begged him not to.” Freddy admits, a little lost.

 

Matt can barely contain a giddy laugh, restraining himself to a mildly victorious smile. “Technicalities aren’t ideal, but they work.”

 

“I always feel vaguely dirty afterwards. Cheap trick.” Foggy admits. “But hey, it’s for a good cause, right?”

 

He actually sounds convinced of this. He’s able and willing to help a guilty man get away with a crime just because he did it for the right reasons.

 

Foggy’s getting good at it, Matt thinks ruefully. This week has been a hell of a crash course.

 

“Right.” He agrees. “And the whistleblower was a junkie who was bitter he didn’t get a fix from the good doctor.” He recalls slowly.

 

“Lying to get back at Mark.” Foggy completes the thought. “Easy enough to discredit, if he was even sober enough to show up to court. Totally unethical, of course, that sort of tactic. But it won’t get that far.”

 

“It won’t.” Matt realizes, steadily more excited. “We can wrap this up in a week.”

 

“A few days, maybe.” Foggy argues, cheerful. “Man, thank god for sloppy cops. Uh, don’t tell Brett I said that.” Foggy adds hastily. Matt nods agreeably before turning back towards Karen and Freddy.

 

“So we’re done?” Karen asks dubiously. “Just like that?” Matt shrugs.

 

“We need to meet the prosecutor and file the paperwork, but essentially yes.” His smiles widens a little despite his best efforts to appear calm and collected. “Mr. Newton, you’ll be going home with your husband in time to celebrate the weekend.”

 

It’s a bold promise, but one that Matt’s confident he can keep. He’s always been good at getting rush orders. Apparently he can be a little intimidating.

 

What a surprise.

 

“Really?” Freddy asks. Matt nods. “Oh my god.” He takes a shaky breath, and Matt can taste salt in the air. Freddy’s crying. “Thank you.” His voice cracks on the words.

 

“I’d say ‘anytime’, but please don’t let there be a next time.” Foggy advises. “The cops won’t make the same mistake twice, and your husband sort of sucks at breaking the law.”

 

Matt bites his lip to hide a smirk. Mark  _does_ suck at breaking the law. Matt was breaking it for over a  _year_ before he was caught. 

 

“I know. I’ll tell him.” Freddy swears. “Thank you so much. Our anniversary is this weekend. This will mean so much to him, thank you.” He can’t seem to stop saying it. “I’ll get you the check by tomorrow. Are you allowed to take bonuses? Big ones?”

 

Both Foggy and Karen make small sounds that sound suspiciously like suppressed squeals of joy, thankfully quiet enough that Freddy can’t hear them. Matt manages to stay a little more composed.

 

“Anything you think is fair.” He offers kindly. “We don’t require tips.”

 

But they very much need them. Foggy always complains good-naturedly that they take too much pro bono work, and Karen has been taking minuscule paychecks without a peep of protest.

 

“Of course.” Freddy says quickly. “I—I don’t want to be rude and run, but I need to tell him.” Freddy says in a rush. Matt smiles and rises to his feet to shake Freddy’s hand.

 

“We understand.” He assures him. Freddy’s got steady hands—good for a doctor, Matt supposes.

 

“We should get together sometime for dinner.” Freddy tells them earnestly. “Mark will want to thank you in person.  Double date, you know? And Karen, I’d love for you to meet Kristen. She’s technically our secretary, but she’s more like family. I think you’d like her.”

 

Matt wonders wryly if Mark and Freddy have an EMT friend named Cleo too.

 

“That sounds great.” Karen admits, and Foggy echoes the sentiment. Matt nods too. God knows they could use some more friends. They’re practically hermits. Karen and Claire are the only ones with social lives.

 

Less than a minute after extracting the promise for a dinner in the near future, he’s out the door.

 

There’s a dazed moment of silence.

 

“So, there were bank statements in the case file, trying to prove profit from the theft.” Foggy mentions casually. “I think that we might have just become mildly wealthy.”

 

“Huh.” Karen intones blankly. “Yay.”

 

And that’s enough to break Matt out of his trance. He turns and lifts Foggy just a little from the ground, spinning him around in an ecstatic circle. Foggy gives a surprised laugh but doesn’t protest.

_“You_ are absolutely brilliant.” Matt tells him, full to the brim with pride and happiness and love. He reluctantly puts Foggy down, but keeps his arms wrapped around Foggy’s waist. “And I adore you.”

 

And he’s punch-drunk on success and the intoxicating feeling of working with Foggy as partners again, the best feeling in the world. His guard is down and his common sense has taken a vacation. It makes a perfect storm of stupidity, and his body takes the chance and runs with it.

 

Matt kisses Foggy.

 

Foggy makes a startled sound and goes very still. Karen giggles, and Matt’s brain comes back online. He pulls away like he’s been burned, letting Foggy go and taking a few steps back.

 

What did he just do?

 

“No, you don’t have to stop. It’s cute.” Karen protests. “You’re always so reserved about it, almost like you’re just friends. I don’t mind you showing some more affection.”

 

Thank goodness Karen doesn’t object to their fictional relationship, Matt thinks a bit hysterically. Now if only it wasn’t fictional, and Matt hadn’t just ruined what little ‘just friends’ cover he had left.

 

Just one more thing for Foggy to feel uncomfortable about. Matt’s been lying to him for years and he’s also hopelessly in love with him. Foggy will be running for the hills in no time.

 

“Sorry.” Matt says despite Karen’s assurances, and goes to give her a quick hug too.

 

“It’s really okay.” Karen assures him cheerfully. “Hey, we need to celebrate. Dinner?”

 

Matt imagines spending an entire meal with excruciating silence and awkwardness between him and Foggy, and shakes his head immediately.

 

“I have a thing.” He apologizes vaguely. “Appointment.”

 

“An appointment?” Karen asks doubtfully, and Matt nods.

 

“Appointment.” He says again, inanely. “But you two should go.”

 

“But—“ Karen starts, but Matt’s already grabbing his coat and heading for the door.

 

“Have a nice time.” He calls over his shoulder, not giving her any more time to ask questions.

 

He leaves.

 

Foggy doesn’t say a word.

 

* * *

 

“I need my suits back.”

 

“Hello to you too.” Claire says dryly, letting him inside. “I thought you’d be cautious for a while, considering what happened.”

 

“I need a fight.” Matt tells her honestly. “It’s that or crying at home, and I’ve already had my cry for the week.”

 

“Crying?” Claire sounds surprised. “Why would you be crying?” Matt forces himself not to start searching the apartment right away for the suits. That would be incredibly invasive and rude, and even as messed up as he is right now he knows that’s bad.

 

“I kissed Foggy.” Matt admits bluntly. “I didn’t even ask. I practically forced him, and I did it in front of Karen.” There’s a short silence.

 

“Wow.” Claire seems a little impressed at the magnitude of the mistake. “And he didn’t kiss you back?” Matt laughs sharply.

 

“Why the hell would he kiss me back?” He asks bitterly. “Even if he didn’t hate me at the moment, he’s not interested.”

 

Claire is quiet for a moment.

 

“He’s pretty interested.” She says finally. Matt snorts.

 

“His heart never speeds up at all around me.” He informs her. “Not once in years, no matter what I do.”

 

He’s tried _a lot_ over the years. Wearing no shirt as often as possible, stretching in front of Foggy with a satisfied moan, touching him as much as he can and offering suggestive comments at every turn. Nothing, no reaction at all except cheerful, friendly affection and a steady heartbeat.

 

“Did it speed up early on, maybe when you were still getting to know each other?” Claire prods slowly. Matt shrugs.

 

“Yes. That’s normal—he said I was handsome. A handsome duck.” Claire gives a muffled laugh at this, but Matt soldiers on. “But it started tapering off somewhere around the six month mark, and I didn’t…I wasn’t interested then. I ignored it.” He admits, ashamed at Past Matt’s stupidity. “I didn’t get a clue until a few months after that, and by then it had stopped completely. The more he knew me, the less attracted he was.”

 

Matt had been so relieved when Foggy’s heart started calming down around him. He was so grateful that he wouldn’t have to deal with the fallout of a confession. Even then, he’d known that Foggy was someone he could be friends with for the rest of his life, and he’d been terrified of hurting him.

 

Matt had thought it over then, and decided that he’d say yes if Foggy asked. Matt hadn't been interested in him that way, but it would have been worth it to keep Foggy as a friend. And it hadn't seemed like a hardship, exactly. Matt knew that Foggy would make a good boyfriend, considerate and kind. So Matt had been ready to date Foggy even if it meant being intimate. He could pretend he was into it, and maybe eventually he actually would be.

 

Matt was an oblivious idiot. He should have known—the decision to date Foggy had been startlingly easy. He’d wanted it, even then. He’d just been too stubborn to admit it.

 

“Did you ever think that maybe he just got used to you?” Claire suggests. Matt blinks at her, confused. “I’ve been that way with some of my boyfriends. We get so comfortable that it’s not something forbidden and exciting, the everyday things. It’s just relaxed. What did his heartbeat sound like when you kissed him?”

 

Matt considers.

 

“Fast.” He admits. “But that could have been surprise or panic.” It must have been. That’s exactly how Matt would have reacted if Foggy had kissed him before Matt knew how much he wanted it.

 

“Yeah, it could be if he wasn’t in love with you.” Claire tells him. Matt stares, stunned and skeptical. “You can’t see his face when he’s around you. It gets sad sometimes, I think when he remembers what happened between you, but when he forgets? He glows. He looks at you like you hang the moon and stars, like you’re his sun.”

 

Matt has never missed his vision as badly as he does right now. If Claire’s right—and she can’t be, she can’t—then Matt would give anything to see how Foggy looks at him.

 

He’d give anything to look back.

 

“Maybe before.” He hedges doubtfully. “But not now. Not after everything that I did, all the lies I told.”

 

“Matt, I only met him a few days ago.” Claire reminds him gently. “He already knew, and he still looked at you like that.”

 

Oh. Matt stares into space for a second or two, heart pounding. Is Foggy really interested in him? The sun, the moon and the stars, Claire had told him. That’s not just interest.

 

That’s love.

 

“I need to talk to him.” Matt murmurs, dazed. “I need to ask him. I need to kiss him again and check.”

 

“Good idea.” Claire approves. “Just ask this time.” Matt nods. “Do you still want the suits?”

 

Matt’s immediate reaction is to say no. He doesn’t need the suits, he just needs to talk to Foggy and find out if Foggy loves him too.

 

That’s what Matt wants to do, but he still hears the sirens. He knows that he can’t stop being Daredevil, no matter what happens with Foggy. The city needs someone to fight for it, and no one else seems to be stepping up to the plate.

 

“Yes.” Matt tells her quietly.

 

He’ll drop the suits at home, dress in something nice and make himself as polished as possible, and then he’ll go see Foggy. Maybe he can get Foggy’s favorite lemon candies on the way, something bordering on a bribe just in case Foggy’s uncertain about the love thing.

 

“Okay. Hold on.” There’s a note of weary disappointment in Claire’s voice. She worries about him, Matt knows, and even though she’s come around a little to his way of thinking there are still times she wants him to stop.

 

Matt can’t stop, and he doesn’t want to.

 

A minute later Claire’s handing him the folded suits. Matt runs careful fingers along the fabric, relearning the material. The new suit is a little more familiar since Matt’s been wearing it so much, smooth leather and armored plates. It’s the tank, the heavy artillery.

 

He shifts it under and feels the old outfit. It’s the last one left of the set, the only one that he didn’t ruin before he switched to the new model. It brings a wave of nostalgia, touching the light material. It’s a miracle he didn’t die wearing it, Matt thinks. It has next to no protection, no matter how easy it is to move in.

 

Matt frowns, moving his fingers back over the shirt.

 

“There’s a tear.” He notices. “That wasn’t there before.” He knows every inch of this shirt, and it was in pristine condition. He’d only worn it once, on a good night.

 

“Yeah.” Claire agrees. “I was going to sew it up, but I couldn’t get the time.”

 

“How did it tear?” Matt asks, confused. “Did it get caught on something?”

 

Foggy must have been in a rush when he grabbed it, trying to get to the station as soon as possible to avoid suspicion. And he might have been angry when he found it and all the truths came tumbling out at once. He might have torn it as a sort of catharsis.

 

Matt can’t blame him.

 

“On a knife.” Claire informs him, and Matt freezes. “Don’t worry, he was fine. It didn’t even break the skin. Scrape, really.”

 

Matt licks his lips, a calming gesture.

 

“Who was wearing my clothes, Claire?” He asks, dangerously pleasant, the calm before a storm.

 

“Foggy.” Claire sounds confused that he even has to ask. A second later she sucks in a sharp breath. “He didn’t tell you, did he?” She whispers, shocked realization dawning. “You didn’t know.”

 

Matt can’t breath. His fingers feel frozen against the torn cloth.

 

Foggy was wearing his clothes. Foggy was wearing the suit, the one with _no_ armor _or_ protection, and Foggy ran into someone while wearing it. Someone with a knife.

 

_I went out and punched something really, really hard—and almost broke my hand doing it._

Swollen knuckles, tender and sore. From punching the wrong way, _hard._

 

_I should probably learn to punch without hurting myself more than the target._

Target. Foggy wasn’t talking about punching bags or walls.

 

Matt turns around, suits clenched in his hands, and he starts running. He listens with half a mind to hearts and sounds, avoids everyone so they can’t see what he’s carrying, but the rest of him keeps hearing the words on a tortuous loop. Target, knife, tear, broken hands.

 

Matt runs faster.

* * *

 

Matt doesn’t even wait for Foggy to open the door before he’s pushing his way inside and shoving the torn shirt into his hands.

 

“What the hell were you thinking?” He growls. “You could have died.” Foggy sighs.

 

“ _This_ is what you want to talk about?” He groans. “Not the fact that you kissed me within an inch of my life and then ran away without even trying to explain?”

 

“Kissing you was stupid.” Matt snarls. “This was suicidal.”

 

“Oh come on.” Foggy huffs. “I’m not some damsel in distress. I can put up a fight—maybe not like you, but I manage.”

 

His voice is getting farther away, and Matt follows after, not willing to let Foggy get more than a few feet away in case Foggy feels like risking his life again.

 

“Why would you do this?” Matt asks, and he’s still angry but some of the sick desperation is coming through in his voice.

 

“Because I had to.” Foggy says simply. “Look, the video was impressive, you had no alibis, and you had a bruise on your jaw. I bet you had a dozen more under your clothes, scars too, and they’d see that. They were going to charge you, and if you went to prison, how do you think all the _many_ inmates you got arrested would react? I don’t care how good a fighter you are—they’d have killed you.”

 

“So, what? Was this some kind of experiment? Stress relief? A brief episode of insanity?” Matt hisses. Foggy doesn’t take the bait and get angry.

 

“I said we needed a miracle, but all we had was you and me. I had to prove that it was _impossible_ for you to be the Daredevil—and I did.” Foggy explains. “It’s pretty hard to be in two places at once, even for someone like you.”

 

Two places at once.

 

“You put yourself in danger as some sort of Hail Mary pass to get me released?” Matt asks in incredulous fury. Foggy makes a noise agreement. “And you almost got yourself stabbed?”

 

“It turns out that baddies don’t really like it when you thwart their evildoing.” Foggy admits wryly. “Some of them object, in fact. Quite vehemently.” Matt can’t quite breathe for a second.

 

“You shouldn’t have been near _anyone_ who would want to hurt you.” He tells Foggy lowly. “Ever. You can’t put yourself in danger like that.”

 

“That’s rich, coming from you.” Foggy points out a little sharply. “Relax, it was just the one time. I got unlucky, but the rest were okay. I stuck to small fries though. Let’s face it, I’m not really up for taking down criminal kingpins, even for you.”

 

“The rest.” Matt repeats faintly. “How much were you doing this?”

 

“Mm, Friday night after I talked to you, Saturday too, and a tiny bit on Sunday before I picked you up, just to be sure. I needed to get some witnesses, and get caught on camera with the right angling and lighting—clear enough to get IDed as you but not clear enough to get IDed as not-you. Which is tough. I mean, I've been working out lately, eating healthy...ish, but I still don't really have your, um, assets?” Foggy offers awkwardly. He clears his throat. "So there might be the rumor among the criminal crowd that you got a little less toned, maybe put on a teeny tiny bit of weight, but a quick 'diet' should clear that right up. Plus I made up for it with my sparkling personality." He adds brightly. “Oh, and you’ve got a pretty nasty reputation among petty purse-snatchers now, and several cute little old ladies with bad eyesight have invited you to bingo night—they say you can keep the mask on, but you have to bring snacks.”

 

Friday, Saturday, _tiny bit_ on Sunday. Matt had been locked up in a jail cell, worrying about himself, and Foggy had been in danger. Matt’s taken down his fair share of purse-snatchers, and he knows that some of them are armed with more than just menacing words. Knives, guns, anything.

 

Knives. A tear in a shirt, and Matt hadn’t known. Matt had _let_ him be in danger.

 

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Matt tells him hollowly, reaching out to grip Foggy’s shoulders. He wants to shake him, but that wouldn’t do anything except make things worse. Matt settles for touching him to make sure he’s still in one piece. “Why would you do something like that?” Foggy snorts.

 

“Matt, not to be a downer, but you’d have been convicted if I hadn’t.” Foggy points out bluntly. “And it wasn’t awful. Actually, it seems to be working for you as an exercise regimen, and god knows I could use something a little more exciting than a treadmill, so I was thinking—“

 

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Matt snarls. “Don’t you dare joke about that.” Foggy laughs bitterly.

 

“It feels pretty bad, doesn’t it? Knowing that someone you love was out risking their life, maybe even getting hurt, and they didn’t tell you about it?” Matt flinches, and Foggy curses. “Jesus, I’m sorry. That was terrible. I know exactly how that feels, and if you tried that speech on me, I’d probably punch you.”

 

“And almost break your hand doing it.” Matt snaps. Foggy might not want to pick a fight, but Matt’s aching for one. He wants Foggy to start yelling so Matt can yell too and not feel like he’s attacking instead of defending.

 

“Yes, okay, my skills could use some work.” Foggy admits. “But you said you’d teach me, remember?” He’d sounded unsure at the time, but now he seems to think it’s a given. It’s an open offer.

 

“No.” Matt denies flatly. “I’m not teaching you anything, because you won’t need it. You don’t punch, you don’t kick, you don’t put yourself in danger.”

 

“You know that’s not fair.” Foggy accuses. “You’ve been doing it all the time, apparently. Don’t be a hypocrite.”

 

“You don’t even want to do it, not really.” Matt is sure of it. “You were furious when you found out I was doing the same thing.”

 

“No, I was furious that you were _hiding_ it.” Foggy corrects him. “That you were hiding a lot of things. By the time I found out, I was almost okay with Daredevil. I mean, not his number one fan, but I was warming up to him. But you lying? I’d never be okay with that.”

 

“You lied too!” Matt reminds him sharply. “You didn’t tell me what you did to get me out.” Foggy sighs.

 

“I honestly thought you knew.” He admits wearily. “I was sure Carter would rant about the Daredevil appearances, and it wouldn’t have taken you more than a second to figure it out once he did. I thought you just weren’t talking about it because it was weird for you.”

 

“’Weird for me’?” Matt repeats blankly. “What does that even mean?”

 

“You know, because I was sort of stealing your identity—secret identity, I guess.” Foggy muses thoughtfully. “And not really doing a good job. Your street cred probably took a nosedive, sorry. So I just thought it was, I don’t know, embarrassing?”

 

“It’s terrifying.” Matt corrects him honestly. “Just the thought of you being in trouble scares me, but I’m so grateful that you’d be willing to do that for me when you were so angry.” He smiles, but it’s more of a grimace. “It’s a little hectic in my head at the moment.”

 

“Well, that’s nothing new.” Foggy points out. “You tend to overthink things.”

 

This is true. The problem is, Matt has no idea _what_ to overthink this time. He’s upset and sick at the idea that Foggy endangered himself. Now though, the anger’s draining out of him the longer he’s touching Foggy and listening to his voice.

 

Foggy has always been good at calming Matt down.

 

Now that the terror and temper is fading, now that Foggy’s explained, Matt’s also awed. Foggy cares that much about him, enough to go to those sorts of extremes even when things were frayed between them.

 

There aren’t many people, Matt reflects, that are lucky enough to have a friend like Foggy. Matt’s one of the few.

 

“Please don’t do it again.” Matt begs. “I can’t thank you enough for doing it this time, but _please_ don’t do it again.”

 

“Stop protecting you?” Foggy murmurs, testing, and Matt swallows. He wonders what Foggy was thinking when he heard it earlier. Was he upset that Matt seemed to be marginalizing his sacrifices, or just sad that Matt thought Foggy should stop? “We’re Matt and Foggy, not Mark and Freddy. It’s different, Matt.”

 

“Is it?” Matt challenges. “Mark screwed up and got himself thrown in prison, and Freddy had to solve the whole thing by himself. That wasn’t fair to Foggy.”

 

“You’re doing it again.” Foggy chides gently. “You’re mixing up our names. Look, I get that we’re creepily similar as partners to them—Freddy basically looked like a cross between us actually. Dark hair, blue eyes, stuff like that. I kind of wonder what Mark looks like.”

 

“He sounded annoying.” Matt mutters. “He probably looks annoying.” Foggy snorts.

 

“What, just because he’s not a tough guy like you?” Matt shrugs. “Don’t be a snob, Matt. Not everyone can be a badass.”

 

“You can.” Matt offers hesitantly. He still doesn’t like the idea, but he has to admit that it was an amazing act of loyalty. “But you weren’t serious about going out again, were you? Please?”

 

There’s a second of taut silence where Matt’s sure Foggy’s going to say yes, he was serious, and Matt had better start teaching him some mad moves to keep him alive out there.

 

Every moment of training him would be torture. Foggy hates hurting people—being the ‘Daredevil’ must have been hard—and Matt hates the idea of _teaching_ Foggy to hurt people. For every attack he taught, he’d feel like he was chipping away at what makes Foggy who he is.

 

“No.” Foggy sighs grudgingly. “Honestly, I’d probably _raise_ the crime rate once criminals realized what a softie I am. I’m not really menacing. I mean, in little bursts I can do it, but you’re better. You sort of have this low-grade don’t-fuck-with-me aura going on, even when you’re smiling. When you were yelling at Freddy today, it got so bad I thought I might have to break out the stun gun.”

 

This gives Matt pause.

 

“You have a _stun gun_?” He asks in blank surprise.

 

“Got it after my pathetic first showing this week.” Foggy explains. “Thought it might be a good investment for a cowardly vigilante who wanted to keep his hands intact.” He gives a guilty little laugh. “It was a little funny, honestly. I feel so bad saying that, but their faces just when I turned it on—yikes. You can borrow it if you want.”

 

“Maybe.” Matt allows.

 

He doesn’t like the idea of adding cheap aids to his fighting, but the fact is that his new costume, his billy clubs, even his support team, they’re all…crutches for his fighting style. Luxuries. He shudders at the word, because it’s something Stick would say, and Matt hates agreeing with the man on anything after what he did.

 

And it’s a kind offer. Foggy got a weapon that he felt kept him safe, and now he wants Matt to use it too. He knows that Matt can beat most men to within an inch of their lives with his bare hands, but for that small fraction that Matt can’t, Foggy wants Matt to have something to help him.

 

“Anytime.” Foggy urges kindly. “I got it in red, and it’s got the little prongs at the top like horns. I’ve been calling it Lucky Devil—Lucky for short, because Devil might draw unwanted suspicion, you know? Plus, now it’s a lucky charm. Definitely worked like a charm for me, at least.”

 

“Did ‘Daredevil’ stun a lot of people with Lucky?” Matt wonders with trepidation.

 

“It just worked so much better, sneaking up from behind and zapping them.” Foggy admits sheepishly. “Which I get is totally cheating, but it’s also kind of practical. And it got the job done. I mean, you have a new fanbase among the octogenarians of Hell’s Kitchen—and let me tell you, some of them were _not_ keen before I talked to them. So, good job there, right?”

 

Honestly, Matt has put a great deal of work into talking as little as possible to civilians he rescues. They tend to ask a lot of questions, and some even try to invite him back to their place afterwards for ‘nightcaps’. Matt often flees without more than a muttered goodbye.

 

Apparently Foggy’s much better at Daredevil’s PR. Matt wonders if he can convince Foggy to take on another job as Matt’s agent. They could become the official lawyers for Daredevil if they played their cards right.

 

It’s ridiculous, of course, but still fun to imagine.

 

“Good job.” He agrees finally, and Foggy’s shoulders relax under Matt’s hands. “I’m glad you had something to defend yourself with. That was smart.”

 

“Thank you.” Judging by the brightness of Foggy’s reply, he’s practically glowing with the praise. “So, not to make this awkward, but can I put this shirt down? I mean, it was comfier than I thought it would be, but the shirt and I still aren’t really at the snuggling stage of our relationship. We barely even know each other.”

 

Matt gives a small huff of laughter.

 

“Here.” He moves his hands from Foggy’s shoulders to take the shirt, and then adds it to the growing pile on the floor. He really should pick them up and fold them, but he’s a little busy.

 

He just remembered the reason he’d been planning to come here in the first place.

 

To find out if Foggy loves him.

 

“Why did you do this?” Matt asks him, steeling himself for a battle with himself. He’s going to be overthinking every word of this, just like Foggy said he would. “Why did you pretend to be me, go through all that trouble?”

 

“I needed to so you could get out of being charged.” Foggy explains slowly, puzzled. He already said all of this, but Matt’s gathering all the facts to make his case.

 

“That’s the legal reason. It was the only avenue to win your case.” Matt points out. “I know you like to win, but you wouldn’t do that for anyone. You believe in upholding the law as much as you can.” Although he’s proven fully capable of breaking it, lately.

 

“Well, no.” Foggy sounds even more lost. “But I did it for you.”

 

“Right.” Matt encourages. “And why am I that important? Why am I the exception to the rule?”

 

“You’re just _you_.” Foggy tries vaguely, but Matt gestures for him to continue. “I mean, you’re my partner, so I couldn’t really run the business without you. Your name is on the door.”

 

Matt loves that sign with all his heart. There have been times when he said he was ‘going for a walk’ or ‘making a call’, and he’d slipped down to the front of their building and just felt the raised letters of the sign.

 

Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law.

 

“And that’s all?” Matt presses, feeling like he’s cross-examining a witness. This is more important than any case he’s ever worked on, though. This is _life-changing._

 

“You’re my friend, you dope.” Foggy says in exasperated affection. “I’d take a bullet for you. Playing dress-up and saving some cute old ladies was pretty fun by comparison.”

 

Matt shakes away the instinctive panic that accompanies the thought of Foggy being anywhere near a bullet, even to save Matt. Now is not the time to freak out—not again. He’s had his freak-out today. It’s time to be the calm, clever lawyer again.

 

The calm, clever lawyer who is desperately in love with his partner and trying rather clumsily to get his partner to confess his hopefully requited desperate love. Upon reflection, the desperate bit doesn’t leave much room for the calm, clever part.

 

“And there’s nothing else? Nothing more personal?” Matt urges, and to his embarrassment a thread of the desperation comes through in his tone.

 

“More personal than years of friendship and camaraderie?” Foggy asks dryly, mystified. Matt nods. “Like what? Best friend? Do you need a ‘best’ in there to feel validated?” Foggy wonders.

 

“I feel validated.” Matt assures him before getting back on track. “No, I mean something different from simple friendship. Something else.”

 

Foggy doesn’t speak for a long time.

 

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” He prevaricates. “Could you be a little more specific?”

 

Like a witness avoiding the question, Matt thinks. Fine. Matt doesn’t play around in court—he goes for the throat.

 

“Are you in love with me?”

 

Another silence from Foggy, even longer this time. It can’t last longer than a minute, but it feels like hours are stretching by.

 

“Yes.”

 

Matt waits for some grand explanation, maybe some backpedaling. ‘I love you like a brother, buddy’, or something equally painful. But Foggy doesn’t say anything else. Just ‘yes’.

 

“You _are_ in love with me?” Matt checks again, disbelieving. Maybe he phrased the question wrong the first time. Maybe Foggy was confused.

 

“Yes.” Foggy says again, simple and certain.

 

It all seems too easy, Matt’s instincts scream. Like a trap. Foggy’s angry at him, and Matt’s—not angry, but worried about—Foggy, and it seems impossible that a love confession could be such a calm little oasis in the storm.

 

“Good.” Matt says, not at all intelligently. He clears his throat. “That’s good. I mean, obviously I feel the same way.”

 

“Obviously?” Foggy repeats, incredulous. “You never said anything.” Matt frowns.

 

“I was fairly overt.” He argues. “I did a lot of shimmying, stretching, that sort of thing.”

 

“Yeah, I just thought that you were a natural tease.” Foggy tells him bluntly. “You flirt without noticing too. Seduction is your default setting.”

 

“I don’t _seduce.”_ Matt protests. “I woo. And you, Foggy Nelson, are impossible to woo.”

 

“I—what?” Foggy sounds torn between bewildered and offended. “I can be wooed. I am open to wooing. I _love_ wooing. It’s just that you kind of fail epically at wooing.”

 

“I do not.” Matt says stubbornly, and then realizes that they’re squabbling like children and not getting anywhere. “Fine, this is me wooing. Foggy, I love you.”

 

Foggy takes a shaky breath, and then another one, before responding.

 

“Matt, I swear to god.” Foggy grits out. “You have the worst timing on the planet. Did you really have to confess right after a _fight,_ during a mild _cold war_ about our various sins against each other?"

 

Matt bites his lip. Things had seemed to be going so well. He’d thought this was _good_ timing.

 

“I hate it when we fight.” He admits earnestly. “And does it matter? I love you, you love me.” He has a brief flash of a goofy grin at the thought before he tamps it back down. “The rest is just details, not the big picture.”

 

He’s sort of expecting Foggy to have an epiphany that yes, how silly to let a little thing like Matt lying to him for nine years get in the way of such a sweet and beautiful confession.

 

And then they could hug, maybe kiss a little again, and talk about their future. Matt is fully aware he’s got some making up to do, but there’s no reason he can’t do it with the advantage of romancing Foggy to grease the wheels of forgiveness.

 

Foggy does not have an epiphany about the sweetness and beauty of Matt’s confession.

 

“So, here’s the thing.” Foggy starts slowly, and it’s in his careful voice, the one that means bad news is coming. “You have this habit of putting yourself up like a lamb to the dating slaughter when it comes to me.”

 

Matt blinks.

 

“What?” He asks in flat astonishment. Foggy sighs.

 

“Look, first year we were friends, I was _really_ interested, right? Like, always one smile away from begging you to go out with me. And you knew that.”

 

“I—I didn’t…” Matt begins weakly, but he can’t finish the lie. He feels mortified that Foggy was aware of Matt knowing. God, it must have hurt him so much. Matt feels sick. “I was okay with it.”

 

“No, you were desperate.” Foggy says bluntly. “And every time I was about to ask you out—you must have known from my breathing or something—you always got this look on your face. It was like someone standing in front of the firing squad. Resigned, a little scared but still willing to face their fate with dignity.” Matt winces. “So you were going to say yes. You were going to date me, even though you didn’t want to.”

 

“It would have been worth it.” Matt tells him desperately. It’s the wrong thing to say.

 

“But that’s the problem.” Foggy explains patiently. “You were willing to put yourself in a relationship that made you uncomfortable, just to keep me happy. And that’s _dangerous,_ Matt.”

 

“But I want it now.” Matt reminds him. “I want you.”

 

“Maybe.” Foggy allows reluctantly. “But you decided to bring it up when you knew I was upset, not in the _nine years_ that we were fine. You’re trying to use it as a bargaining chip again, something to keep me close to you.”

 

Matt shakes his head.

 

“That’s not why I confessed.” He argues. “I wasn’t going to confess at all.” When Foggy makes a sound of triumph, Matt hurries on. “I wasn’t going to confess because I thought it was hopeless, not because I didn’t want to. But then Claire said that it _wasn’t_ hopeless, and I had to try.”

 

“Claire…?” Foggy murmurs. “Damn it. That woman is scary smart, and her EQ is off the charts. How is that fair?”

 

He sounds rueful, but not offended. He’s not denying that Claire was right.

 

“It’s not.” Matt admits. “But she said you were interested, even though your heart didn’t speed up around me. That you were comfortable, used to me. I hadn’t even considered it as a possibility before.”

 

“Matt, have you ever considered that you might rely on your senses too much when it comes to reading people?” Foggy questions cautiously.

 

“All the time.” Matt admits. “But I’m better at the heartbeat thing than the talking thing.”

 

“Apparently not.” Foggy mutters. “But that’s…that’s something.” He sounds hesitant. “I just—look, I want this, but I’m afraid it’s just an instinct thing for you, self-sacrifice for others, and a month or a year from now you’ll be miserable and desperate to get out of the relationship.”

 

“That’s not going to happen.” Matt promises him, but Foggy doesn’t seem convinced. “Look, we’ll take baby steps, alright? Lots of talking about what happened, what we want. Then we can spend a little more time together, work our way up the dating ladder. If either of us wants to back out—which I won’t—then it’ll be easier, right?”

 

“It might be.” Foggy doesn’t sound sure of this, and secretly Matt agrees. It will never be ‘easy’ to lose Foggy, as a boyfriend _or_ a just-friend. “There are still problems. You’re mad at me for going out in the mask.”

 

“I’m not.” Matt is shaken up, but not mad. Not anymore. “As long as you promise not to do it again.”

 

“ _You’re_ going to do it again.” Foggy points out. “And you won’t let me stop you. Double-standard.”

 

Matt closes his eyes for a second and steels himself for what he’s about to say.

 

“I’d let you stop me.” He whispers. Foggy takes a sharp breath. “If you told me to stop, I would. I’d choose you, okay?”

 

Foggy’s right that Matt has an instinct for self-sacrifice, but this would be something so much more complex than that. It wouldn’t be a sacrifice, really, if it meant keeping Foggy. It would be like giving up a bad habit—even though the bad habit involves doing something good for people. Matt is fully aware that his nights in the mask border on addiction. This could almost be a good thing.

 

Matt thinks he could actually convince himself of that, somewhere down the road. He could block out the sirens if he could hear Foggy breathing next to him in bed instead.

 

He freezes when Foggy sighs and presses a brief kiss to his forehead.

 

“Thank you.” He says quietly, and Matt swallows. Foggy’s going to stop him. “But it kind of seems a waste to stop now. I mean, you’ve got a free pass for a while before the police stop angsting about their failure enough to start looking again.”

 

That doesn’t sound like Foggy trying to stop him.

 

“So you would let me?” Matt checks, guarded. Foggy considers.

 

“You like it.” He muses. “You’re good at it, except for the little hiccup of getting arrested. You _do_ a lot of good with it—I saw all the reports and the news articles when I was researching, and it was impressive. And I _know_ you’d be miserable and desperate if you stopped.” Matt reluctantly nods the point. “You’re pretty committed to committing crimes.”

 

Matt’s not sure whether to wince or smile at this blunt assessment. He chooses a rather unfortunate mix between the two, realizes how strange it must look, and focuses more on the smile part.

 

“You always say that you admire my work ethic.” He teases wanly. Foggy snorts, which is a good sign. “So, it’s a yes?”

 

“To the dating or the Daredevil?” Foggy wonders, and Matt shrugs hesitantly. Both. “Okay. Basically the same answer, actually. We try it. We support each other, we communicate, and if there’s a problem we do _not_ avoid it or lie about it. No assumptions or evasions. We tell each other everything, like we used to—well, I guess we hid things, your senses and my wanting to date you. And we both bent the truth about wearing the mask.” He adds thoughtfully. “But _now_ we do the honesty thing. Honesty is key.”

 

Matt nods eagerly.

 

“Definitely.” He agrees. “No lies, no secrets, total honesty.” He can do that. It might take practice, but he can do that. “Thank you. This is going to be amazing. You won’t regret it.”

 

“I hope neither of us will.” Foggy says softly. He hesitates. “So, the suits. Were you planning to go out tonight?”

 

Matt glances down at where he knows the suits are crumpled on the floor. He tilts his head a little, listening.

 

“Robbery five blocks away—professional, jewelry store.” He murmurs. “Fire eight blocks away, but no one’s inside. The firemen can handle it. A few arguments, bar fights judging by the words, and—oh. Assault. Woman, jealous boyfriend.”

 

Foggy’s shoving the new suit into his hands within half a second.

 

“Assault.” He orders, and Matt nods, already stripping. “Can you get there in time?”

 

“If I run.” Matt estimates. He hesitates with his words, although not with pulling the suit on. “How badly can I hurt him?”

 

This is communicating, he thinks. If Foggy’s going to be part of this, he gets a say. Matt’s got a tendency towards overkill, but Foggy often favors a lighter touch. Matt can adjust.

 

“Nothing permanent. If your hands are hurting, you’ve probably done enough.” Foggy decides. “Make sure the woman’s okay after.” Matt nods.

 

“Have her call a friend, give her the number of a good lawyer that’s not us for filing charges.” Matt agrees. “Standard.”

 

He tugs on the hood, and is surprised that Foggy gives him a quick kiss just at the corner of his mouth while he’s doing it.

 

“For good luck.” Foggy explains. Matt nods again, dazed, and starts moving.

 

This feels right, he muses as he goes. Foggy seeing him off, kissing him goodbye and good luck after talking about strategy. It’s like what they do at the office, working out problems and plans together. They’ve always been a powerhouse as partners, balancing each other out and thinking almost perfectly in sync.

 

Matt hopes that they can be partners in this too.

 

“I hear you’re looking for a fight.” Matt tells the assaulter pleasantly. “What a coincidence—so am I.”

 

He hears Foggy’s calm heartbeat a few blocks away and the assaulter’s terrified one a few _feet_ away, and grins.

 

This feels _right._

 

* * *

 

Slow and steady wins the race.

 

Matt has always thought of this as a trite sentiment—not lowering your guard and letting your weaker opponent get the upper hand is what wins the race—but in this case, it seems to work.

 

The nights are simple. Matt tells Foggy when he’s going out, what he’s going out for, and what he’s going to do. Foggy gets veto, but they tend to be on the same wavelength so there’s no significant tension about it. There are only a few times when Foggy has to calm Matt down before he leaves so Matt doesn’t go too far. This part is, surprisingly, the simplest piece of the puzzle. Foggy falls into the role beautifully, despite his initial reservations.

 

The dating, that’s the part they have to take slow.

 

Foggy seems honestly nervous that Matt’s going to back out at any moment. Matt can’t really hold it against him considering Foggy _knows_ that Matt had been planning to date him just to keep the peace, years ago. Matt doesn’t want to come on too strong, because that might make Foggy feel like Matt’s rushing things just to seal the deal and get Foggy hooked. So Matt’s careful. He keeps things sedate.

 

They stick to hugging for a few weeks, adding more touches cautiously as they go—holding hands, pecks on the cheek, simple massages after a long day. It feels about as perfect as Matt thought it would, and Foggy seems to like it too.

 

Matt lets Foggy kiss him first. It’s hesitant but sweet, and Matt smiles into it. Foggy smiles too. More kisses come after that, easier and more often.

 

After a few days of this, Matt dares to try a kiss in front of Karen again, making his intentions clear with his movements and giving Foggy a chance to pull away. He doesn’t, and Karen giggles again. This time Matt doesn’t have to run—instead he just grins and goes back to work, content. Foggy kisses him the next day, and it becomes a habit.

 

Foggy holds his hand when Claire’s patching Matt up, and the visits start to occur just as much at Foggy’s apartment as they do at Matt’s, whichever one Matt knows Foggy’s waiting in. They spend the evenings together before Matt goes out, and eventually they start sharing the nights too. Sleeping with Foggy feels natural. They’ve got three years of experience already from their time as roommates—the only thing that’s changed is them sharing the same bed.

 

And the kisses goodnight and good morning. And the spooning and cuddling. And the waking up with Foggy drooling into Matt’s hair and mumbling about butterflies in his sleep.

 

So nothing’s changed, except for everything getting a million times better.

 

“Do you ever think that me getting arrested might have been an act of God?” Matt asks one night, their first night officially living together instead of just staying over for days at a time. “Something to help us finally be together?”

 

Foggy shifts in his arms, rolling over to face him.

 

“You’re the religious one, not me.” Foggy reminds him. “If it was, He could have done something a little less drastic.” Matt frowns, and Foggy sighs. “But He would have to be a pretty cool guy, matchmaking like that. You picked a good deity.” He adds kindly.

 

Matt beams.

 

“Thank you.” He says happily. Despite Foggy’s skepticism, Matt’s fairly certain it must have been some sort of gift from above. Matt tries so hard to be good, and God must have noticed that. “How are you feeling?”

 

He’s been checking in as often as he can to make sure Foggy’s confident and comfortable with what they’re doing. No miscommunications, no assumptions. Take it slow.

 

“Happy.” Foggy replies easily, and he _sounds_ happy. Lazy, sleepy, happy. “You?”

 

“Blissful.” Matt admits. “Overjoyed, euphoric, on cloud nine.”  Foggy huffs.

 

“Show-off.” He mutters. “You have to pull out the happy thesaurus, don’t you?”

 

“Jubilant, joyful, elated, delighted, content.” Matt adds playfully. Foggy bites his shoulder gently in warning, and Matt grins. “There’s nothing wrong with expressing my emotional _ecstasy_ eloquently.” He claims with completely false innocence.

 

“Ooh, that alliteration.” Foggy sounds grudgingly impressed. “You’re right, you do know how to woo. I’m swooning in the face of your very voluptuous vocabulary.” Matt laughs.

 

“You’re a dork, and I love you.” He tells him fondly. Foggy presses a smiling kiss to his collarbone. “I don’t suppose you want to cancel tomorrow and stay home to swap synonyms?” He suggests hopefully.

 

“And miss a lovely brunch with our mirror selves?” Foggy asks wryly. “I think Mark might actually kill us if we ditch.”

 

“He’s much more aggressive than Freddy advertised.” Matt muses, a little proud. It’s good to know that Mirror Matt is less delicate than Matt thought. He’s part of the M team, and they need to represent.

 

“Don’t worry, you’re scarier.” Foggy assures him, and Matt is quite pleased with this compliment. “Kristen’s sweet though, and so is Claudia.”

 

Of course, Claudia the paramedic. Now Matt’s just waiting for Maria the paralegal to show up. It’s got to happen eventually. Hell, Freddy and Mark probably have a cantankerous old professor named Cane tucked away somewhere too.

 

“I don’t want to go.” Matt moans piteously. “We can just grab the French toast and run, say something came up at work.”

 

“You are such a little hermit crab.” Foggy teases. “You’re so charming though. I don’t get it.”

 

“I’m not good with people in large doses.” Matt admits. “It gets overwhelming.” He can handle it—he’s had to learn, over the years—but he’d rather avoid it if he can.

 

Foggy hums sympathetically, considering for a moment.

 

“One hour, then we escape.” He offers. “We can change back into pajamas and have an exciting day reading in bed.” Matt nods enthusiastically. It sounds like a perfect day.

 

Matt goes still as he hears a rather loud argument erupting nearby between two dealers fighting a turf war.

 

“I need to…” He gestures vaguely towards the closet and the suits. Hidden panel, very good investment, and Matt hadn’t even had to pay to have it installed because he has his very own live-in handyman.

 

“Bat signal?” Foggy guesses, and Matt smiles apologetically. “Yeah, okay. Don’t think this means you can weasel your way out of brunch.”

 

“Of course not.” Matt agrees quickly, although he’s already trying to put together a plan to accomplish this very thing.

 

“Good. I’ll be alibi.” Foggy yawns. “Play nice, stay Zen, make good choices.”

 

Matt grins as he rolls out of bed and changes into the suit.

 

“Yes, dear.” He drawls teasingly. Foggy snorts. “Be back soon. Keep my spot warm.”

 

Foggy grumbles about sassy vigilantes who are going to be sleeping on the couch tonight, _dear_ , but there’s a rustle of silk as he moves to Matt’s side to keep it toasty. Foggy runs hot, and it’s lovely to slip back in on a cold night and climb into a warm bed next to a warm Foggy.

 

“Don’t get arrested.” Foggy commands dozily. “You’re a bad client. Stubborn, tricky.”

 

“Yes, dear.” Matt says again affectionately, leaning down to give Foggy a quick kiss as he makes his way to the window. “And you’re a very _good_ lawyer, and I’m very lucky to have you.” Foggy makes a happy sound.

 

“Take Lucky.” He orders drowsily. “He’s feeling neglected.”

 

Matt rolls his eyes but grabs the weapon from the bedside drawer and tucks it into his belt next to the billy clubs.

 

“Our stun gun isn’t a pet, you know.” He reminds Foggy for the hundredth time. He’s got time to tease a little—the dealers are engaging in impressively long-winded rants about each other’s questionable parentage and general failings as human beings.

 

“See, this is why he likes me better. I’m the nice one.” Foggy says sagely. Matt shakes his head in mild despair over his partner’s slight insanity. “He’s kept you out of prison more than I have.”

 

Lucky is Matt’s last resort, and he grudgingly concedes that it’s effective. Underhanded, but effective.

 

“Right, of course." Matt agrees indulgently. "Get some sleep, don’t wait up for me.” He commands gently.

 

“I always wait up for you.” Foggy grumbles. This is true, and despite Matt’s assurances that Foggy doesn’t need to, Matt absolutely adores it. “Seriously, stay out of prison. I’m not missing brunch to bail you out, and you’d look bad in orange. Red’s more your color.” Matt nods. “Okay, have fun. Give ‘em hell, Daredevil.”

 

Matt bounces once on the balls of his feet, grinning, and can’t resist darting forward to give Foggy one last, lingering kiss. Foggy pushes up into it, sighing. Matt moves away before he ends up climbing back into bed for more.

 

The Devil is seeping in around the corners, itching for a fight, but it’s still easy to smile tenderly. The Devil is involved in illegal activity. The Devil exhibits signs of violent behavior. The Devil threatens and causes bodily harm to the people who deserve it.

 

The Devil is the one who Foggy lied for, who Foggy would lie for again in a heartbeat, and the Devil loves Foggy just as much as Matt does.

 

“Yes, dear.”

**Author's Note:**

> Does this even count as a case fic? I don't know. There are cases, but they're really simple. And none of those arguments would probably stand up in court. I am embarrassed by my mishmash knowledge of law.
> 
> I tried to make Foggy a little less forgiving than I usually do with a still-happy ending, to try something new. I can see him being a wee bit annoyed that Matt had to get arrested for the truth to come out. Not sure how it turned out, but I tried.
> 
> Also, this was possibly the tamest DD story I've ever written. There's no sex talk at all, really, and the relationship is slow-going at the end. So, maximum fluff with minimum hot-and-heavy. Sorry if you miss it, but it was kind of fun to do one based entirely on emotional intimacy and sweet touching without the intense sex. They really are in love, promise, sex or no sex.


End file.
